Backseat Drivers

The Whole World or Nothing

I wasn't much for a petty thief. I wanted the whole world or nothing. 

That's what Charles Bukowski said - a man of undeniable wisdom, who in his own way had also succumbed to a form of disorientation. He said a lot of things that Sean would happily have tattooed across himself in an act of pure and permanent agreement - unsurprising considering he was starting to fall on a similar path. Even before he'd laid a finger on any sort of drug, Sean was long tired of reality. There was always a quest, a project, or an innovative aspiration to distract himself and force the world into his own mould - as could be said for Calum too, though he had his own reasons. Regardless, the two had always moved together in energetic harmony: business ideas, prospects, plans. 

The concept started after Sean had first been to the cinema he'd eventually work at - he'd left a showing of 'Shout No More', his head swimming with political and artistic conceptualisations. At that time, his partner in crime was none other than Calum Harris, life and soul of any party he could find, and the two of them quickly developed a business idea on another level to anything they'd thought of before. Sean could never remember the full details anymore - it was something of an arthouse cinema related to trading ... something complicated. But something good. He was sure of that. They made blueprints, they looked at small filmmakers, they calculated, they researched, they planned - Calum even took a course. And like anything else it was the money that finally got the better of them. It was Sean's reason for getting the cinema job, and after a few months he'd managed to save enough to be hopeful. Calum spent all his time doing odd-jobs, selling stuff at school - using his natural business skill. Between them, they didn't have a lot, but they had something. They had a start. 

Until Calum's step-dad stepped in. The man had a renowned alcohol problem, it wasn't a secret. It wasn't a surprise, either, when the money stashed under Calum's bed disappeared, and the liquor cabinet was restocked, the fresh empty bottles laying by the bins the next morning. That alone would've been enough to dash their hopes, but some cruel joke of fate decided to take the friendship along with it. 

It was both their faults. Arguments usually are. 

"Calum - this is fucking brilliant!"  Sean marvelled, thumbing through the crisp notes, the queen's face flashing in satisfying flicks . Calum sat beside him on the bench with a grin, exhaling a lungful of pearly smoke into the biting breeze. In front of them, the River Medallion swam, occasionally glinting in the sunlight. 

"What'd I say? Told you I'd sort it." 

In retrospect, Sean really should have questioned why all of the money was in clean £20 notes, but money blinded his suspicions into excitement. 

"So we could actually do this then?"

"Fuckin' yeah we could."

"Where'd you get it all?"

Calum just shrugged in response, flicking his ash to the ground. 

"Places."

"Oh yeah, this much money from 'places' in two weeks. Sure," Sean replied cynically, and Calum rolled his head back in amusement. 

"Look, we've got it, haven't we, that's what matters."

Sean looked at his friend, the doubt finally surfacing at the beautifully bundled money in his hands. 

"Calum, where'd you get it?"

"Places, I said, man. Don't sweat it." 

"Well, I'm sweating it now, Jesus." 

"Seaan, just leave it," groaned Calum, his words elongated in bored pleading, as he brought his cigarette back to his lips. 

"Calum, can you j-"