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White Wine
I sat at my computer staring down the list of online drugs we would soon be purchasing: Molly, Northern Lights Marijuana, and pure, uncut, Peruvian Coke. Graduation was right around the corner – a month and a half to be exact. Three years and thirty bricks ago I had been a failure, a dropout, an all-around loser; now I’m was drinking tiger’s blood, fucking bitches, and winning. There was Wendy with the nose ring, clit ring, and punked out, skull-tatt, arm sleeve, Kali, curvy with skin the color of aged oak, and Claire, the clean shaven bleached blonde, she could swallow a softball. They were my coven.
It started the night we went down into the steam tunnels. Kali’s hazel eyes caught a glimpse of the Zippo flame and burned with lust. She put two tabs on her tongue and stuck her tongue down my throat. The LSD took hold of me; colors became sound, sound became feeling, and feeling became beyond fantastic. The tunnel was long and damp; the pipes were steaming hot; her kiss was warm and sent tremors through my core. Claire chimed in and offered me some coke.
Sometimes students got lost in the tunnels – their corpses served as rotting sentries guarding whatever secrets those now-closed-off corridors may hold. Wendy teased us; she stripped out of her Alice In Chains tee and let her perky, pierced nipples lead us. Deeper into the darkness we went, the walls were dripping wet.
We fucked like a mad tea party – biting, scratching, moaning, moving. Rainbow tracers reverberated around their bodies and highlighted their shadows like neon signs against the grey steam. Their lips were like tiny bubbles tingling my skin with every soft prick. We climaxed and our bodies quaked into a thousand rays of light.
Black Hat hackers advertised easy to move malware and credit card scammers sold dumps, fullz, phished accounts, and scans. Steam tunnel maps, illegal e-books, and pirated software floated around freely. I met a legit hitman; he gave me a few good tips on how to kill a man. Wendy watched my back and kept a shovel on hand.
Claire’s bleach blonde hair hung low and her nose shined bright when she lifted up her head from that last line of blow. “Woohoo! Today is the fucking day. Let’s graduate bitches!” she said with her rocker chick hands. We started off as degenerate undergrads, graduated to misguided, and held 2 middle fingers up to the upper class. We crashed parties and crushed kegs, pulled all-nighters and wore the same clothes for 3 days. Too many blunts kept me calm and her voice kept me high – music major, her notes spelled out X.T.C. in my mind… Kali was sexiness and divinity.
Through the kickflips and banged up knees, broken bones and skull fractures they’ve been there for me. Three trippy, fly, chic home-girls and a screwed up kid from St. Louis, Missouri. We’re crossing the stage and tossing our hats – taking a toast to Love, Sex, and Dreams.