Double-Edged Sword - $UICIDEBOY$

Crossing Boundaries Pt. 1

OMGOGMGOFM BTW DID ANYONE SEE THE NEW MUSIC VIDEO FOR, FOR THE LAST TIME??? I was such a simple tired bean and now my v a g i n a is shook.

    His car was smaller and run down; it was clearly the car of a "philosophical" photographer with apparently no sense of time. The worn down seats puffed up around your thighs, and the aged seatbelt weakly clung to your body. Max twisted the key once, then twice before the car revved to life. As expected from his gruff smoker's voice, he popped a cigarette into his mouth and rolled down the window.
    "Were exactly are we going?", you asked as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the road.
    "Anywhere away from that place- I could tell you were itching to get out.", he inhaled his cigarette and exhaled through his nose without letting go of the steering wheel.
    "How... could you tell?"
    He smiled and turned through an intersection, "I may look like a 'dropout philosopher' as you say, but I know my shit."
    "Mhm, apparently..."

    He parked in a dingy parking lot covered in gravel and litter. A complex network of buildings surrounded the spot. Weak neon signs ahead advertised a bar.
    "When I first came here with Ruby and Scrim, they took me here. I don't think they did the same for you judging by that face you're making. So, I'm taking you myself.", Max finished his cigarette and threw it outside into the gravel.
    You walked together and closely, probably for safety. Bars have licenses dictating the times they can stay open to. Most close from 2 a.m. to midnight, but this shabby place was open in the hour of 3 a.m. You supposed it must be open 24/7, catering to every lost soul in the 7th Ward.
    Inside was the most unique little place you'd been in, ever. The walls were plastered from base to ceiling with pictures, stickers, and objects from New Orleans. Pictures of flooded cities hung over the bar, and fishing lures tied to string hung down from the ceiling. Bottles of every kind were littered behind the bar in a glittering mess. The lone bartender, somewhere in his 50's, artfully poured a fine combination of liquid onto a shot glass and passed it to a hunched over man. He knew where each bottle was in the disorganized pile. The dregs of the night were sprinkled throughout the wooden tables that were each carved with images of water or boats.
    Max was quick to guide you to two open bar stools. The bartender swooped over and put this elbows on the slick table. The grey and black curls on his head fell and covered the edges of his burning hazel eyes. For a moment, you became aware that you didn't have your ID, but he didn't ask. His gaze focused on Max.
    "Long time... no see, eh?"
    Max smiled, "Missed ya man. This is Y/N- she lives with Ari and Scott."
    The bartender grinned widely at you, revealing that his two front teeth were solid gold, "Then, Y/N- right? Ya, Y/N, nice to meet ya. I'm Avery."
    He pulled out two shot glasses by instinct, but Max refused, "None for me- I'm messing with something else.", he leaned in and whispered gently to you, "Addie."
    You briefly stared at Max, wondering how often he casually went on pills. Then, a glass of "who the fuck knows what" slid in front of you. You took it down, recognizing the taste as nothing but the sensation of burning. Another one went down your throat, and a third, before you kindly stopped and continued talking to Max. Avery busied himself with giving bar-room therapy to a lonely guest.