Who: Gilman and Max. What: Gilman goes to the Key to hustle pool for extra money. Max is unimpressed. Where: The Key. When: January 13th, evening. Warnings: Gilman gets his ass beat. Lot's of cruel insults and foul language.
Gilman needed more drugs. Having such incredible, blazing truths at his feet had been a powerful experience. He had disposed of a corpse without even opening his laptop to access Google. Fuck Google. He didn’t need that shit when he had Pure Snowy Truth. Much as he needed more drugs, Gilman was dangerously low on cash. He wouldn’t be able to pay next month’s rent for sure, not if he wanted to eat, and he was already eating once a day of whatever cans were in his pantry.
He was seriously considering stealing from donation bins. Fuck the poor. The poor were just lazy and unresourceful. Gilman was resourceful as fuck.
After a long day of trying to sell boring candid prints of people – which almost nobody was interested in – he was forced to consider new avenues. Then he thought of the Key, and how many people went there, and how he could hustle at least enough cash to get another line. Just one more, to give him a better idea for cash. One more so he could buy a fucking pillowcase full of the shit. If it didn’t cost an arm and a leg to get to Portland, he would’ve sold plasma, but he just didn’t have the spare cash for fuel.
So into the Key he went. It was warm and inviting inside, and he lingered a moment in the threshold, eyeballing the people playing pool. He’d never been shy before about just cutting into a game, but he had to make sure he didn’t butt into a game and then get taken. Gilman couldn’t spare a single penny. He paid no attention to the bar. Even if he had the cash to waste on booze, he wouldn’t do it. He only came to the Key to cruise, and he already had his next mark. What was the point?