Post by potatopancakemaker on Jun 25, 2010 10:36:20 GMT -6
IT'S THE TERROR OF KNOWING WHAT THIS WORLD IS ABOUT
watchin' some good friends screaming
- - - - - - - - L E T M E O U T !
tagged; JOE AND ELEANOR!Face’s Crock Pot had always been a highly unusual name for a diner, but then again, it was rumored it was named after a girl so odd, she was a literal “crock pot.” This amused Eleanor to a point that whenever she passed the restaurant, a small smile always found its way to grace her face. And in fact, the diner held many memories for her: her first cheeseburger, her first day here in Carson, and finally, what would be her first drug dealing. Yes, today good ol’ Ellie was buying $30 worth of blow, but what she realized as she left the house was that she was a bit short: instead of three tens, she had three ones. Eleanor knew this would not please Joe, her potential dealer, but she had some other tricks up her sleeve. It had worked once before on a guy she met back in downtown L.A.: using her wit and charm, she seduced the guy into giving her a gram of weed, all at the cost of nothing. Eleanor supposed she wouldn’t have done that if she had to go further than licking his ear, but sometimes, it was worth it. All she knew was that she would never give up her virginity for the price of drugs. To her, it was too far, and unnecessary, really. Most guys thought her to “cute and innocent” to fuck, but they accepted the feminine attention she did give them. Hell, it worked. That’s all what mattered.
Eleanor rounded a corner and into an alley, the very destination where she would meet this Joe. She felt a slight fluttering in her stomach, perhaps the general anxiety that came with meeting a new dealer, and so she ignored it. All Eleanor had on her was her wallet, which snugly fit into the pocket of her jeans, and so it wasn’t an issue for her to sit on the lid of trashcan; Eleanor wasn’t the type of girl to worry about hygiene and ruining her clothes. What she had on anyway was from Target, and was cheap, and so she didn’t give much of a shit about what could happen to it. She checked her watch; they hadn’t set a time, but it was late afternoon and the sun was in the west. She made most of her drug purchases at this time. Early enough to be safe, but late enough to not be noticed. Surprisingly, the diner wasn’t that busy today, and so Eleanor didn’t worry about being caught by patrons. Regardless of the butterflies in her stomach, she was at ease, and quite excited about finally getting more substances for her stash. Her childhood friends from Los Angeles had become dealers themselves, and they had been so kind of sending her packages of drugs, cleverly hidden to avoid any trouble from the authority. But it was difficult, and plus so risky, and Eleanor realized she couldn’t do it no longer. She hadn’t received a package in four months and she was nearly out. So what did she have to do? Find a new dealer.
And fortunately, she did. This Joe, whom she barely knew, she had met on a chatroom. Eleanor knew how stupid she had been (for all she could have known, he was a cop) but this had happened before: a police officer had traced her, but when he saw her, he didn’t believe she was out for drugs. She looked to “innocent,” and not at all like a druggie, and after being asked if she had seen any “suspicious activity,” he left her alone. What worked for Eleanor was that she still got some weed anyway.
The past didn’t matter though. What did was the fact that Eleanor would finally be getting her fix, and for that, she was happy.
words; 638
lyrics; under pressure by queen
credit; to brook from caution