”I love the girls, and the money, and the shame of life. Hop down they’re the people on the street, where the fuzz in the navel make the people want to eat. My shallow mind is just a sign of your game of life.”

Shame of Life — Butthole Surfers

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A long day of court, an entire day over a goddamn scratched car. Sure, being a lawyer paid good money, but fuck, it’s boring. Unless the occasional armed robbery or murder cases come through.

Brian sighed as he shifted his car into park, shrugging off his suit jacket. Just one line before walking into the bar wouldn’t hurt, right? At least that’s what his brain decides, it’s been a long day.

He sighed, looking for the familiar bag of white powder. Eventually, he’d managed to get it on the steering wheel, doing the line. He’d leaned his head back, making sure none fell out of his nose.

After he’d made sure he’d got it all and none was left stuck in his mustache, he stared out the windshield. Rain, nothing unusual this time of year for California, just slightly irritating. He sighed, getting out of the car and slamming the door shut, making his way into the dingy bar.