FicWad

"I just don't know, Max. Making a charity album seems a little far-fetched." Coby's eyes, compared to most others thus far today, definitely seemed most... What's the word? Genuine? I shifted a bit uncomfortably in the rough chair. It's a little too late to start giving a fuck. They dragged me down to Brooklyn to some god forsaken recording studio to discuss ideals that they knew they couldn't really call the shots on. I stood up, running my hands across my face in agitation. It irked me that they didn't even give my new record ideas a chance. And to think that they're faking compassion only makes it worse. They're trying to kill me.   
"We've got to do this type of stuff now, though. Make a difference NOW. Make our staple NOW." I was just so irriated with them all, I couldn't help the ranting. My palms began balling to fists at my sides. If I stay in this room any longer, I may just explode. I grabbed my coffee cup on the soundboard and made my way to the door. "See you assholes later," I grumbled, loud enough for them to hear. Outside was a little cold and stiff. Nothing like the salty, burning air of the west coast I grew up in. I walked blocks and blocks, not really knowing or caring where I was going. The sidewalks felt like those twinding trails in Alice In Wonderland- just not quite as colorful and exciting. I took another swig of the coffee, the bitter taste brimming over my lips a little. I fucking hate Brooklyn. It's so flooded and cultivized with people who think they're so damn superior. Everybody has the right pair of jeans, the right t-shirt, the right shoes. They have to talk like each other, act like each other; they even have the right lingo. Every fucking subculture and the pretentiousness of it all. There's something so morally wrong about it. This place is the penical of hipster culture. I passed probably a little too swiftly by a guy who I swear to god looked like he could be in MGMT. An "ironic" beard to go along with his "hobo chic" look. His eyes buried into me, and I could've sworn I heard a scoff. Is being neurotic really such a bad thing? That asshole was probably the nerdiest kid in high school who got dumped in enough trash cans to last a lifetime. He probably bitches about society and capitalism without really knowing what the real issues are or what capitalism even is. He probably truely believes he's a non-conformist and that everyone else is just so deep beneath him. He probably thinks he's too fucking cool for school and tries to get into new things not because he actually enjoys it, but just for the sake of knowing something new. I finished off the coffee in my shaky, angry hand and tossed it into a near-by trash can with enough force to punch any one of those douchebags down for the count. The sky hung low and purple, exploding in strange ways. Time goes by faster than I bothered to think or look. Fuck all of these frauds and their bullshit; I'm proud of who I am- neuroticism and all. I just really need to get back on tour. Back to the road. Back to feeling and tasting the breeze of a new city on my skin everyday. I found myself at the tip of an alley, trash and a distinct reek flooded the place. My body slauntered to the ground, and my twitchy fingers instictivly went to the pocket in my hoodie. I pulled out a joint I'd been saving and a lighter from the back of my dirty jeans. Bingo. The wonders a good hit could do to you. I let the world fade around me. Don't know where the fuck I am, but then again, nothing really matters. 

Gabe POV

I drummed the tips of my fingers to the beat of my arguably favorite Warren G song, trying to find summer in the chills of this shitty winter. Brooklyn is the hometown of a lot of my brothers and sisters- 'friends' I guess you could say, but people I consider much closer. It made sense that it's one of my favorite places to cruise through. My eyes dallied across the large, dark buildings, falling into alleyways involuntarily. An oddly familiar, disheveled guy sat slumped against a wall. Fog that could either be smoke or the normal condensation of the frosty air circled around him. Holy shit, that's Max. I socked the breaks, being sure not to freak out anybody that happend to be behind me. Before my mind knew it, I was bending down, surveying the stoned-out-of-his-mind mess of a brother. 
"Max, Max/," I affirmed, snapping his floating green eyes to me. Dude's a fucking mess. Looked like he hadn't slept in /years by the bruises beneath his eyes. His eyes darted, a little too excited, and he twitched like a five-year-old that just munched on a bag full candy. A sloppy smile zipped across his face;  blazing and stupid. 
"Heyy Gaabe," he managed to cackle out. I rolled my eyes, pulling him up by the freezing material of his cotton hoodie. Natalie is not going to like this. His smile withered away once I began pulling him to my car. 
"Where are we goin' man," Max asked, dazed and much more coherent than I thought he could manage. We were already heading back to the city streets of Manhattan. 
"Home, dude. Where else?" I let my words sink into him with a small smirk coming off of me. "Why the hell were you there anyway," I pumped at him, letting my curiosity get the best of me. A smile I let through easily coaxed him into an answer. Convincing it was just a simple question- not real integrogation. 
"Was just trying to calm myself down with a good blaaze," he simply put, strectching the last word like taffy.
"Calm yourself," I asked, my thoughts roaming out of my mouth. 
"Yeah, man. My cock hasn't had any action for like two months, and my band mates were being dipshits earlier." With every lethargic word came a shaky kind of anger that just grew and grew. I killed the immediate urge to punch him square in the mouth while remembering that he was just wasted on pot. Fucking shmuck. My sidekick began vibrating against my jeans, as I parked the car by what looked like their apartment. 
"Hello," I asked, forgetting to check who the caller was. 
"Gabe!" That was Natalie's shriek. A smile snuck up on me before I knew it. She overreacted far more then she ever needed to. I already knew what she was going to ask.
"Max is with me, Nat, and we're right outside. So just take deep breaths," I coaxed, hoping my grin was absorbed into the phoneline. A sigh of relief and an all-too familiar laugh immediately followed. I could picture her rolling her eyes in my head. 
"See you up here." A dial tone followed her breathless, relief-filled words. 
"We're home, Max," I said, opening the car door, and quickly shutting it before he had a chance to speak. He climbed out, stumbling only a little, following me up the stairs. Max stopped outside the door to his place, his shaky hands moving to his back pocket. He shoved a key into the hole, and trudged inside, leaving the keychain dangling off the door. I strayed behind, locking the door. The house smelled clean and almost feminine. 
"Max," Natalie gasped, embracing her boy with all her small body could engulf. He mumbled something I couldn't quite hear from where I stood at the edge of the living room. I noticed a familiar girl standing beside Natalie; tiny and the same pale complexion as Max. Absoulute worry and almost a horrored look crossed her face. His little sister? The girl who's dating that Anarbor kid?
"He'll be fine. He's just a little out of it," I said, taking a seat on the couch. A distinct odor of smoke entered me as I shifted in the sofa. 
"Thank you so much, Gabe," Natalie sighed out, her warm touch swallowing me for a mini moment. Max sank into the recliner across from me, the look in his eyes far off and bloodshot. The girl I guessed was Max's little sister gulped the air, looking directly at Max. 
"Where the hell were you," she asked, her authority-written voice cracking a little.
"I left the recording studio. Smoked some weed. Got picked up. I think you can guess the last part, Carolyn." His words were clear and irritated. Carolyn looked at her brother with wide eyes of disbelief. "I'm assuming that the integrogation is over. Goodnight everyone." The dickhead got up, and trudged his way down, disappearing down the hall. Natalie sighed, running a hand into her hair. She looked hurt and tired- something I hated to see. 
"I'll talk to you later, Natalie." Carolyn's voice was shaky breaking between words. Nat nodded, pulling the girl into short hug. She gave me a small wave, and turned on her heels toward the door. Natalie's eyes were large and hurt, slightly red from the embarassment caused by Max. A small frown was practically cemented on her pillowy lips.  
"You know you can stay over at my place," I said, trying to offer something, anything to at least keep her from looking like a kid who's puppy ran away. She looked up, those eyes on mine, guilt screaming at me. 
"No, no- I'm fine. I'll be fine. I can handle this." She was lying through her teeth. I rolled my eyes at her. 
"Well, I'll stick around til little Maxxy decides to calm down," I said smugly, crossing my hands behind my head, sprawling across the sofa. A roll of her brown eyes and a smirk set in that seemed to wash the hurt away. Mission accomplished. 

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I find hipsters attractive. Shush up. 
God damn I hate my writing. Ugh. I suck. And I don't feel like responding to my review.