Re: Shiloh F + Jack P: The Capital
Jack didn't believe in trust. Not as a general, all-encompassing, sweet summer-child sense of the word. He'd been cynical since he could talk, and deeply unimpressed by most people who strolled across his path for their naïveté which meant he was SOL when it came to trust in the main. Jack trusted people who trusted no one, which was all a bit too heavy on irony for a man in an alleyway with another man with his dick out pissing against concrete and brickwork.
Oblivion. So many people wanted oblivion. They wanted silence and forgetting, or they wanted the world to go to shit while they took a time-out, and all of it never silenced everything forever. It made things worse, really, when you had to pick up the threads after they had time to tangle themselves. Jack didn't believe in checking out, everything was so much hassle afterwards. Again, heavy on the irony for a man who had been so deeply into the booze his liver function had been ambivalent at best.
"Oh yes," he said, without batting so much as an eyelash as the boy-man unzipped with a heavy rasp of fly. He was young, the boy in the alley, or at least young enough he still had boy as well as man in there. Jack discounted his own youthful appearance; he'd the recollection of a good comfortable additional decade on the planet even if it didn't look much like it. "There's bogs inside, too. You go for what's convenient," the fictitious drugs. "Do you often ask after someone else's drug deal?" Curiosity. Couldn't be helped, really.