WHAAAAT…Chill Monsters 8.mnstr

Gary’s not really present as they guide the paused ghost through dank, early night streets and twilight parking lots. He’s in his apartment lecturing Percy about how much weed he knows he’s been smoking and how he’s gotta get his head on right if he wants to go to college and stay in. He’s cycling through Percy’s friends, his exes, any dealers, and anyone else he’s seen Percy talk to lately, focusing hard to remember names, and faces, and Instagram profiles. Then Gary cycles through his own exes — ex-dealers, ex-girlfriends, ex-friends, any splits with rough edges that could brush up against his life again catch with jagged edges.

The seeping dark helps move Gary into autopilot as he slinks further into his head where the old stuff lives. Where all the times things could have went bad live and boil at his approach, soaking his feet and clothes so their fade lasts longer than it should. And so a chill bleeds in.

“Yo, Gary, you can stop. I don’t think this glitch cloud is going anywhere. Want a wasabi breadstick?” Diega’s eyes meeting his warm him back into the world. These girls always seem to reach into him with a burning piece of uncooked spaghetti to reignite the pilot light.

“Yeah. I could use a damn breadstick.”