Sins of Smoke

Untouchables

[Saturday 12th July, 06:53am]  

I swear to Him upstairs, judging by the events of things at that moment, I believed that nothing could bring us down. Everyone was as high as can be, ain't nobody could say otherwise. A few drinks further down and our brains were getting as hazy as the naked bulbs on the ceiling, barely visible through the swarms of night bugs that hovered around the electric pulses, harmless to all, but annoying as shit whenever you stood. All around us people would walk by and nod their 'hellos', pat Dennis on the back and make some kind of remark that inflated his ego larger than a hot air balloon. You could see the satisfaction in his unfocused eyes as he paid no heed to Pete's advice and carried on with his drinking. It was almost like he was hunting for trouble, but where would trouble find us? We were solid as a group. Untouchable, defiant and cocky. Everyone had brought their A-game and were pitching jokes, quips and tales like they were going outta fashion.

All that is, except Suds.

Now, Suds wasn't usually the most verbal among us. In fact, he could be downright frustrating. I suppose it's not seen as all too much of a bad thing, but Suds was obsessed with his hygiene. Always had been. In fact, that's where he got his name from. Suds would always scrub those bubbles until his skin shone bright enough to light the room before he left for anywhere, so most of the time the fucker was late. Of course, he hated his nickname, but it stuck pretty quick. 'Never give people cause to give you a shitty nickname,' my father once warned me after me and Kenny were trying out a few. 'Nicknames are like VD. Once you have one, it'll follow you around forever.' Though, I like to think of myself as the exception. Years back (I'm talking toddler days) I earned the nickname 'Skid'. I won't give you any prizes for guessing what that may relate to, but let's just say that that shit stuck on the underpants of my life for years. The only way I managed to escape it was when I was hitting my pubescent years and met a young Dennis. That son-of-a-bitch saved my soul by making a blood promise with me that he'd take down any fucker bold enough to use that name through school. (At that point I didn't know what a blood promise was, but who was I to argue? He offered a saving grace and already had the crimson jam pouring out the slice in his palm before I'd had the chance to say no). In exchange, I just had to give him my loyalty. That's all. He was a lonely kid before he drank that big bottle of I-don't-give-a-fuck-juice that sometimes comes with the hormones and he turned into the cheeky fucker we know him as today.

But I digress.

In all the raucous it was easy to miss Suds.