𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓+𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐒 ✭ 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍

ℱ☮Ի☂⑂ Šїx

Nike shoes pressed harshly into the carpeted floor of his filthy truck. The smell of booze that's was once spilt against the backseat seeped into the yellow damaged sponge. The musk in the enclosed area retrogressed after a week of being sober.

PJ glanced around, tapping his index finger against the steering wheel, the caves digging underneath his eyes took away more breath than the colour of them. How pathetic he looked, as he waited for the one beverage that dragged his being away from his sober due date.

In one swing, the passenger side door opened and in came Felix, slamming another box of Coor's in the back seat.

Felix stuck out his palm, gesturing with his fingers. "Pay up buddy-boy."

PJ lowered his hand to his back pocket, shrugging out his wallet. Yanking out a 30 pounds to place into Felix open hand, the dealer swiftly pocketed the money with a smirk.

"So, I have a proclamation—"

Peej's hands were already diving deep into the cardboard pulling out two cans. "The last time you had one of those I lost my reason for sobriety," he mutters with a single pop of the can.

Felix watched with slacked eyes as PJ pressed the lukewarm can to his lips beginning to guzzle the liquid. As if medicine to a sick child, Peej squinted at it like a forced movement.

"Want him back?"

PJ instantly stopped, his beverage lowering the cheap metal from his mouth. "I'm listening."

Felix then leaned in, beginning to conspire against his best friend.