I’ve been up for three days,” Caleb shouted at his computer monitor. Chain smoking and endless stream of cigarettes. He rambled on and on, talking to me (I think) while never breaking eye contact with a live stream of dark net porn that made the stuff Ricky the sadist watched look like prime-time sitcoms.
“He just isn’t right. I mean meth? And then he walks around like he’s king shit talking himself up in all those fucked up fairy tale stories of his.”
“God damn it I told you to stay outside until I was done with the game. I’ve got more money than what your life is worth ridin on this shit, you fuckin waste of…”