And then I am on my hands and knees with my dick between my legs shredding the fuckin SHAG carpet looking for that rock, and I have my EYEBALL like an inch away from it, anglin here and there, shredding up the rug fuzz, and I can see fuckin INDIVIDUAL STRANDS of this rug. And I am on my hands and knees and I shred every last inch of my carpet looking for the rock. Duh, one of the bitches probably found it and took it, leaving me here like a chump. And then I start getting really fuckin cold LOOKING FOR THIS ROCK and I remember we opened the window last night because, HA, it was getting really fuckin hot. But I’m like WHAT IF THEY DID LEAVE IT and I can’t bear to think what it will be like at work if I don’t get high one more time and so I keep shredding the carpet over and over and over and over again, and I’m cold, and I haven’t slept since Monday and it starts to be NOT FUCKING FUNNY AT ALL and then I’m selling fuckin BUICKS all over the place, and then I have this pain RIPPING through my insides and I am on my side, holding my knees, lying in the shit, when I look across the room at the clock and it says SIX THIRTY, I gotta be at work, the market’s open, dude.

* * * *

Well I put myself TOGETHER I took a shower and hosed off the barf and brushed my teeth and I am on the street and I am late, I have fourteen fuckin’ voicemails, including six from that FUCKFACE prick customer of mine from Kensington. That motherfucker is insufferable, king shit at fuckin Kensington, fuck you. But I gotta be cool because he is literally forty percent of my revs and he knows it. JUST GOES TO SHOW that even when you’re your own boss you’re really not, you’re still working for a fuckin piece of shit fuckstick asshole bastard. I already know what this motherfucker is saying on the voicemails. I don’t need to listen. “T22, Can you please get me indications in the following names.” I don’t know, maybe he’s not so bad, but the Mr. Perfect act drives me fuckin nuts. Come to think of it, most of the guys I work for are like that.

Then on the other end you have guys like W83, that dork CRACKS me up, he’s a grommet still and he’s been down here for years, it’s like he HASN’T FUCKIN LEARNED ANYTHING. He doesn’t even know how to act around the honeys, Alisha told me he got all weird around her last night, she just wanted him to have fun. But he’s a good fuckin egg and you gotta take care of guys like that, I KNOW THE TYPE, because they will TAKE CARE OF YOU, they are loyal as hell. W83 and I needed to establish some trust is all, he has to trust me, and later this morning I will have to trust him, and that is what friends are all about. People think I’m fuckin stupid but I’m not I’m not I’m not, this is all by design—I have an EXCELLENT network of friends and it is all based on BIG TIME trust, and the thing people don’t realize about trust is that it is very fragile but it is also very strong. People are not bad people, even the bad people. People think I’M bad people but I have rules just like ANYONE FUCKING ELSE MOTHERFUCKER.