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Secret Notebooks by Raoul Bourain Les Parisiennes LP-103, 1983 Cover by Fred Fixler

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"Which button makes the seats eject?" asks Kennedy, over a constant, loud electrical hum. "You ever see the movie Airplane?"

The pilot does not humor him with a response this time.

His shades are illuminated by the reflection of instrument panels, buttons and switches and lights and dials, and the monkey part of his brain would like to press and flick and turn all of them. The rest of him would like to touchdown alive, as he intends with Pat to make some serious fucking money.

"Harassing your pilot? What? No, no way. C'mon now, babe, I'm like, on my best behavior."

Kennedy pats the co-pilot on the shoulder, walks off backwards, peeks around the cockpit door like a meerkat. He's a little drunk, happily buzzed, but the high from a sizable blunt he smoked on the way to the airport is starting to taper way off. Long flight ahead. In Macau, a million slot machines and baccarat tables await him.

It's fortunate that cocaine is really good for jet-lag.

"¿Qué pasa?" Hey, is that for me? Shit, I won't say no." he says, and eyes the crystal glass of dark bourbon, his on the rocks. It's definitely for him. The fancy ball of ice in it is starting to melt, so he approaches with a strut like a rooster and he sits opposite Pat, pops the bottom button on his jacket, crosses his legs.

"Do ya know what's for dinner? I can't tell if I'm hungry or just need a bump."

two glasses of bourbon are set on the table, but only pat reaches for hers. a cigarette burns out on the ashtray, forbidden in the plane specially after it's high up in the sky, but her plane, her rules. she glances towards the door to the cockpit, where vernon had disappeared into for at least ten minutes now. " kennedy! are you harassing my pilot again? "

@sleazygoing gets a lil thing

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Hideo Yamashita, 1979

scan

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throwing a screaming crying tantrum cuz i did a quiz where it gives characters that are a personality match to yours and vernon didn't get austin powers

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"Oh, yeah, man, born and raised," says Kennedy, lying. "I'm from Reno." It isn't a particularly noble lie but it's an innocuous one that comes easily. He doesn't know why he says it. Sometimes he just says stuff. Right now he's wondering how soon is too soon to do a bump of coke off his hand while driving. Instead he drums his fingers on the steering wheel expectantly. Eyes Trinity through the corner of his shades.

"I like you, man. I like you a lot. We're gonna get along just fine.

On either side of the Kennedymobile is dirt and brush and low bushes. Telephone poles. A sign with a cowboy on it.

"You got a girl, Trinity? You kinda remind me of me when I was your age. What are ya, like, twenty? Twenty four?"

He sniffs.

"Guess it's a seasonal kind of a thing, like Christmas trees, huh? Fireworks, I mean. Fourth of July and New Year you gotta be makin' a killing, right? That's when I'm rakin' it in too, brother."

" Yeah, I get it. I lost my car, my dad stole it when I was out in rehab. I should have wrecked it before I left. If I cant have it why should he? " Somehow, that was a normal thing to admit to a stranger. Trinity nods.

" M-80s, cherry bombs, if it pops I handle it. " He plants his palms together and quickly pushes them apart when he says 'pop'. If this guy is openly screwing over insurance companies, why not mix in a little explosives too? He rambles, too. Eyes pointed out the passenger window." Been too wet back home, so sales slowed down. Do you live around here? The lack of humidity is perfect for the shit I make, I wished I brought some. "

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his eyes were coke zero brown

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TOYOTA ad in BRUTUS magazine, N0.91(1984)

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"debit or credit?" personality :) (walks out of the store without paying)

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1990s Pajama Garfield Plush

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i have an angel and a devil on my shoulders but i think with my dick so there's not much they can do for me

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"Oh yeah, yeah, I'm a coke kinda guy but I move everything, man, everything. Gimme twenty minutes and I'll hook you up with whatever you want. You like to party? I betcha like to party. I'm serious, man, I'll hook you up with anything. Anything. Give me 24 hours and I'll hook you up with a fully authenticated death certificate from India."

Kennedy shrugged, as he tended to, and eyed Doriano with a smug look. His shades slid down the bridge of his nose a little, and his eyes are small and make it obvious he's high.

"Tell me, amigo, what's a guy like you do for fun?"

@sleazygoing / continued from here.

Elbow on the bar itself, his drink in hand, Doriano just listens to his proposal — sure, the money sounded nice; but that usually wasn’t what he wanted, currently he was content on money. Maybe, though… it’d give him a reasonably more secure place for income — and hey, getting coke and stuff for cheap?

Studious, animal eyes watched the others face - sure, he talked the talk, but could he back it up? “Yeah, I think we could work something out.”

“Maybe later on the coke, though. I don’t want it to influence me too much.” Doriano winked and gave a grin, gesturing with the hand that held it to his drink. “You sell anything else? Can’t do weed, makes me paranoid as fuck.”

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