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amaliaverdezoto > Pink Moon > 3 Infinite Wes
Let me tell you a story. There was this boy. One day, his dad, tired of the universe's benign indifference, sticks himself inside a microwave and baked the living hell out his brain cells. Living through the pain of having their most favored member die, the boy grows up to be a specter in the family, wandering cautiously in their own home. So what does he do? I don't know, I haven't made it past 3 chapters. Doug says he bought the book on a nearby garage sale, it's shit, and that the author is nothing but a pompous crack. He takes it from my hand and throws it across the room.

"Goddamn, I hate hipsters. They're a shitstain on the underpants of society." he exclaims, carefully fitting himself on the bunk.

"Doug, you're like the biggest hipster I know."

"The sky is green Dylan."

"You only listen to post-industrial vacuum cleaner music. You read The Catcher In The Rye like a fucking Bible. And, you've been wearing the same shirt for the past 3 days."

"It's called having a sense of identity."

"Is stealing your P.E. teacher's stash having a sense of identity?"

"If they're as dense as Mr. Park, then yes."

"You're preposterous."

"You're boring."

"At least I got a dick."

Doug is an idiot. A nonchalant one at that. We have these conversations each day, and every time we talk, it just seems like he's falling more and more deeper into this abysmal pit of stupidity. I came down from above and sat near the big mirror by the windows.

"Goddamn!" he says while playing with his phone.

"What is that? NBA?"

I've seen him play. He's fucking terrible.


Doug shifts position and is now in his back, his phone up in the air. I hesitate for a while but finally, told him anyway.

"I'm doing it Doug."

"Good. Finally, this place'll hear peace and quiet. When?"

"I don't know, I'm gonna need to do some things beforehand."

"Do you want me to write the suicide note?"

Something about the way he said it just caught my attention.

"I'm not gonna kill myself you dumb troglodyte. I'm running away."

"Oh. That's worse. And Abigail?"

"I'll see her tomorrow. God, it feels like a century. When was the last time I saw here, like, 2012?"

"She's blonde now."

"Yea, I heard."

My legs were getting sore from sitting haphazardly on the chair so I stood and made my way to the bathroom.

"Don't throw the green stuff." Doug calls from behind.

I ignored him and flung the door open.

"Jesus Christ Doug! Why here?"

"The head, he came to check last morning. I had nowhere to hide because your Mac-fucking-book is on the cabinet. Just... cheer, we got a lifetime of supply."

"Where did you get all this, Jesus Christ, it's almost like Pineapple Express in here. I need to shower take them out or they'll get wet."

The thing with Doug is, he either likes you or he doesn't. I'm somewhere in the middle of his wildly precarious spectrum. One time he woke me up in the middle of

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