The Chair

“Fat Daddy said you might have something special for me.”

“What – Oh, probably just this oxy that we just got in.” Reg reached into his pocket and pulled out a prescription drug bottle and rattled it. “Here take a couple on the house, one for each of you.”

“Thanks man.”

“I’ll grab a couple of beers to wash those down. I’ll be right back.”

“See I told you this was a good idea. Here.”

“I don’t want an oxy. I want to go to The Cave.”

“Fine more for me.” Paul popped both pills in his mouth and took a long draw from the beer that Reg handed him.

“Can we go now?”

“Reg just brought us some beer. Let’s drink these and we’ll go.”

Reg chased a couple of guys from one of the couches so that they could sit down. Claire looked down at the filthy couch and resigned herself to sitting on it. She sat on the edge in order minimize the area of her skirt that came into contact with the couch. Paul had engaged Reg in a conversation about baseball. Claire looked around the room wishing that she was anywhere else. The apartment was filthy and the heat and the stench were making her ill. There were two women on the couch across from them doing lines of coke off of a compact mirror. Both were barely clothed one was wearing knee high blue boots and the other stilettos that appeared to have been salvaged from a dumpster. There was a shabby skinny man unconscious in the corner. The couple in the recliner was now fully engaged in sexual intercourse. Claire diverted her eyes and stared at the floor. She gritted her teeth. It was too much.

“Reg. I’m sorry, but we have to go. Paul.” Claire stood up to leave. Paul grabbed her wrist and attempted to pull her back down.

“Come on let’s stay for a while. The fuckin’ chair is free.” Paul was slurring his speech.

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