Debauchery (Draft Pages, Part One)

Backpack and Dictionary
I didn’t have much money. He did. Alcohol is the reason we became friends. Shots and pitchers and girls and, “whatever…” “Yeah, you only live once”, and both of us could handle our alcohol like professional sports athletes… but (like it usually does) along came a totally different (but related) kind of problem: we were out of cigarettes.
“Gone” I said
He didn’t say anything, and I don’t think he even knew what worrying was. He laughed the whole damn time and so…laughing, He pulled out his money…
“SMOKE VOUCHERS” I SAID… “Wait, don’t you need the money to get back to Canada.”
“No kid… I work for one of the biggest Natural Gas Companies in North America that my Father basically owns.”
“Sounds about right” I said.
“Yeah, I can’t do anything with this U.S money when I get back”.
“You could exchange it for your own currency right?”
And he didn’t respond back to me. He laughed, I laughed, and then we walked to this bar that looked like a dungeon.

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