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fucking neighbors.”
    Rat looks at Michelle, who is standing beside me, touching my arm. He points his chin toward her. “Why’d you bring this little bitch?”
    â€œDon’t call my girlfriend a bitch, dickhead,” I say flatly.
    â€œI wasn’t talking to you, you dumb fuck. You’re the bitch. Though I bet you’d just love to suck on it, wouldn’t you, Michelle?” he says, grabbing his cock for emphasis.
    â€œI’ll kill you!” I’m screaming now and don’t care if he has military training or not. Like my man Emo Phillips says, you might mop the floor with me but you’ll have trouble getting into the corners. At least there’s that.
    8-Ball and Fred get between us. It feels good to nearly get into a fight. Especially with this asshole. And with quasi-chivalry on the line at that.
    â€œYou both need to leave,” Squirrelly declares.
    â€œBut he didn’t do anything,” Michelle says. “Rat said he looked like a clown.”
    â€œAm I wrong?” Rat says.
    â€œLook, just leave, man,” Fred says to him.
    â€œLook at his hair! It’s goddam orange and girl-curly and sticks out in every direction!”
    â€œPlease, Rat.” Squirrelly touches his shoulder.
    He stares at her in astonishment.
    â€œFine. But I’m gonna get you, Bozo.” He points at me, then turns around and goes to the door. He turns again as he walks out and points at me a second time. I give him a finger of my own. The door slams.
    â€œWho wants to do some coke?” 8-Ball asks, breaking the silence.
    Â 
    Although this is the first time I’ve actually seen coke, I’ve watched enough reruns of Miami Vice with Victor to know it on sight. Michelle is first up to get her line. She sucks it up her nose like a pro with a rolled-up twenty-dollar bill, then sits back on the couch with her head cocked at a ninety-degree angle so as not to let any powder escape. After Squirrelly, Fred, 8-Ball, and some other girl have each snorted a line, 8-Ball tosses the baggie at me.
    My head shakes of its own accord. “I don’t mess with the hard shit, man. No offense.”
    â€œNone taken,” says 8-Ball, his bony face contorting with the high. “More for me. But don’t say I never tried giving you nothin’.” He laughs, then sticks two fingers in a glass of water and sucks the liquid up each nostril.
    â€œAre you sure you don’t want to try any, honey?” Michelle asks.
    â€œYeah, I’m sure.” I turn to 8-Ball, who’s hunched over the table cutting out more lines. “Do you care if I get into that gin, man?” I ask him.
    â€œGo ahead. But you gotta get me a glass.”
    As I make our drinks, I yell from the kitchen, “Why isn’t Tab with you tonight?”
    â€œShe had to go to bed early so she could go to a modeling agency in the morning with her mom or some shit.”
    â€œBetter there than being with you,” I mutter. I contemplate hocking up a loog for his drink but decide against it. He isn’t half as bad when his little toadie bitch isn’t around and he’s not trying to ram his tongue down Tabitha’s throat.
    Michelle is back on her knees snorting another line when I return from the kitchen. I sit on the couch and slug my drink, get up and make another. Michelle doesn’t so much as look at me. She neverstops talking. Everyone is talking. I can’t think for all the goddam talking. I keep drinking.
    An hour later Squirrelly and Fred have retired to their bedroom once again and I am more drunk, stoned, and in all other ways fucked up than I’ve ever been. The room is spinning, my head is spinning. A half-full glass of gin slips out of my hand and falls to the carpet. I have to lie down. There’s a perfect empty space in the darkened hallway.
    Michelle and 8-Ball are still talking gibberish and loudly sucking up lines of white powder as my