Folie De Trois

Trippin' Pink

"Optimo, beaux. Sun's up, ya know?" Mike nudged me. "You told me to wake you with the sunshine." I rolled on the couch trying to catch slumber again. "Meet me at the dojo. Thallia is waiting for you downstairs. If you don't get a move on it your Chance will be lost."

I dragged myself out of my cobwebs of dreams, righting myself on the couch. Back in reality. It was a simple task. Get to Paradise, find Chance - the homie - save Chance from self.

I was still stretching when the door to the apartment slammed closed. Usually I used quiet morning time to calm the previous days hysterics. I slipped my phone from my pocket. A part of me picked the voicemail.

"Chance," I heard myself say.

"They call me god now," went the voicemail.

The part of me I shared my body and mind with listened in to the ramblings. There was no more begging Chance to leave that timeless oasis. I paid attention to my other piece. I called him Calamity - Lamb. Through Lamb's focus it was simple to see Chance as that narcissus stuck at the face of the waters. There is no such thing as vacationing to Paradise.

While Lamb listened I wove my way through a handful of partiers, those thinking it wiser to stay with their solo cups, confetti, stained clothes. Where had I put my Binky?

"Facts," Lamb was saying to the voicemail. He rarely talked, so his reasoning for talking to the voicemail seemed cryptic. Calamity just saw things differently.

The minutes long nap after that after party I'd thrown felt a waste. On the kitchen island I found the binky. The small glass pipe stuffed with bud, wrapped in a sleeve of soft plastic so that my medicine never needed to be rolled. Lamb's favorite room temperature espresso was next to it in an Alice in Wonderland mug. The Cheshire cat smiled that questionable smile. Before I moved a third party took control of our hands.

"I'll be..." he mumbled. Burped. Deftly, he shifted the left hand I was using to a cluster of white rabbit bottles, right hand following. This me, Deville, needed to be the center of things. His momentary control spurts caused me spasms now and again. After three bottles he cracked our neck, then sighed.

Lamb went back to the voicemail, playing it over again, draining his coffee. Deville, another rabbit, Lamb then, slurping up grinds. I spit. We were finding our balance now. I snuck in a few movements to the light my binky. And so we danced our morning jig.

"You two ready?" I puffed my smoke. "I'm 0 for 1 in Paradise."

Lamb shushed me.