I hate the smell of weed. It gives me a headache.
But still, I'm on my way to see my brother. His tattered trailer is the last thing my five year old self would have expected it to be. I idolized him once upon a time ago. But now? Now I've grown the fuck up and finally understands the shit he's doing to himself.
If I didn't have so much to lose, I would do it too.
I pull into the driveway and grimace. If he's sober, things might be a lot worse. High Barry is nicer than sober Barry. When Barry knows what's going on, he resents well...everyone.
It sounds horrible, but I truly hope he's high off his ass.
My brother's voice is booming and angry; I can hear it from inside my car. Opening the door, my feet hitting the wet grass. My stupid flip flops are now caked in mud, squishing with every step I take. The smell is awful, weed and swamp and sewage. I get excited to see my brother, I promise. No matter how shitty he is, he's my family. I would just forget that my brother is living in a dumpster, making a living off of drug dealing. The door is open. Someone else is inside.
"Rafe man, you need to calm down."
"No, I need whatever you have.
I need it please. I need it."
"Country club, if I give you more shit...
you die before the cops can get you man."
"They can't find me, right?
They don't know shit. John B killed her.
And John B is dead."
Fuck.
It's Rafe.
