Boston, Mass. Welcomes you

Clean Up Your Act

M's P.O.V.

" I DON'T WANNA BE AN AMERICAN IDIOT", my phone rings damn it's eight already we got an hour before we're back on the road for twelve hours. We decided we're pulling a long one. Plus, we need to see how far we can make it with out sleep. I've had time to come to the realization that when we get to Boston I'm either gonna lead a normalish collage life or a very spontaneous collage life. I mean Em is one hundred percent sure. The drugs were only being sold in our town. When I know that when she told her dad to run the place. I saw corporationslistic trucks at the place getting crates. What can I say, we get our drugs from the other side of the world. Their passed threw our towns foreign family. Their rich ,and didn't want their daughter to get caught up so they ran to the scariest man in town. Em's dad, she asked her dad to show how her how to sell it. He did and she is the leading export into our town. Even the Feds tried to stop the illegal drugs that were passed in. They failed. I know they were getting fed to the South, West and up North some. I don't expect people in Massachusetts, New York, or New Jersey to know of the drugs. The cops up here give as little fuck as the ones down in our town. The 'nice guy' cops are more common here.

Em slept in the middle, and is awake. Texting. A is awake ish, rubbing her eyes. I didn't expect for A to groggily get up and throw her half open duffle bag on the bed and a small bag of weed fall out.

"It's not what it looks like, I've been clean", her eyes aren't red, but a bag of weed. Is laying on the bed.

"Then what is it, cause it sure as hell doesn't look good. Really? Is that what you turned to? Why A?", Em is very 'passionate' about certain things. Like my health, or A's. Or boys like famous people. Something's of hers you don't fuck with, like ever.

"I've been clean, I swear I just packed it so. . . ".

"So WHAT! So you could have a relapse. A, God, just give me the damn bag", Em reaches for it, and A snatches it. Did A really just. No way. Should I intervene. . . Nah

"Em, please, no fuck if, I do what I want, your not my mother, hell my mother didn't even act this bad", A puts it in her bag and zips it up.

It stayed quiet for awhile nobody talking. Just packing as our hour ticked away. Em and A weren't saying what needed to be said, so time to pull a me and fix it.

" A, Em, dears come sit on the bed", start of sweet with a British accent. They of course walk eerily to the bed and sit in far corners.

"Either fix this problem, or I will", keep in sweet, but no accent. When they decline, grin mischievously. then blurt out their problems.

"A you need to check yo self, before us wreck ya self, got me, nigga", add extreme sass and ghetto," and Em, Chill the fuck out, Craka, ain't nobody got time for the bullshit you be tiring to fix". lastly sit down as they look at each other get us and take their bags to the vehicles.

"Niggas, clean up your act", I got up after that and walked down the flight of stairs to the lobby. We signed out at 8:49am.

"They have a coffee shop"? Em asks in disbelief.

"Who wants coffee"? I ask.

We throw our bags in the usual place for our vehicles. The doors slam and it's off to the little diner the town has.

I take off in my car first, looking around, hopping to find even a small corner store. So far no avail.

The radio doesn't go off. The part I really hate about driving separately is that I have time to think. I hate it. The constant hurting feeling. The idea that no mater how close anyone says they are they're gonna leave. The promise I once held so dearly. It was Love. The word, what is its true meaning, I mean it's shown physically, but what if you can't show it correctly. What if the lead themselves off while you practically throwing your heart out, just wanting them. Misconception, deception, weather anyone could be truly labeled as an optimist, realist, sadist, pessimist, narcissist, or all of them. Weather you're sad, happy, or just the between. Optimist are either always happy, or came from always sad. Realist believe the see through bullshit, when their only possibly pointing out flaws as a defense. Sadist, pleasure from defeat. Pessimist were forced to see reality and crave for the high life or an imagination that has a shot as realism. Narcissist, so self absorbed in the self that they probably one were either on of them, and the demons of reality caving in to their desire. I believe every human is flawed. I believe not all are fixable. One must know when to give up.
That's where love makes us blind.

"I found one .over", Em's voice fills my radio thingy. Thank god I was ruining my own vibe.