(DRAFT--Boris gets the Bag)

This story is a road to nowhere.
There is no such thing as a ghost, but here we are able to listen in on thoughts and see what lies ahead sometimes even guide the hands of the people that we create. There are three things you know about Butch. He is what's left of a kid who grew up with no guidance and spends his time accordingly getting fucked up and making money off of other people getting high. The second thing you know about him is that he hates being alone and surrounds himself with people who are even more fucked up than he is. Finally, in the next few moments of this story, he is going to see the light. He is going to get shot and all his iniquities will be laid bare.
There's a knock on the door and he crosses the dirty floor from his old nappy couch to answer it. He opens up and sees Nacho with his dark eyes and shaved head. Nacho looks exactly like what he is. He grew up with plenty of guidance, but not from mom and dad. He tilts his chin up all cool and cholo and comes in all slow. Butch tells him to have a seat like he was one of the dozens of burn outs and tweakers that fall by to score dope or coke and end up staying high for a while on the couch. Nacho says he'd rather stand looking at the dirty chairs and couch and then back to his clean pressed dickies and checkered shirt. Butch goes to the room where he keeps the detritus of his personal life and his mattress on the floor. He picks up a yellow gym bag with the big black block letters on it spelling out "Sport Life". The irony of this has managed to escape Butch's limited mind for the entire time he has had it. In the bag is the product he hasn't sold yet and the money for all the weight he has moved already. In the business world, this is called a "feld audit". Everything should add up. He is confident of this as Nacho goes through the bag. This is rule one of staying in one piece. "Don't fuck with your connection".
Nacho squats down and counts it out. It's all there. Butch is smiling, he always makes sure to turn on the goofy surfer dude charm when he deals with these people. He always offers a bong hit and tries to be as mellow as possible even though, no because, they scare the shit out of him. Nacho stands and reaches behind him as though he's pulling out his wallet to make change. Out comes the gun. It's a .380 new back in the day when they were playing New Order in the dance clubs. Black, cheap, and thick as a brick.
Butch would have been a decent tennis player if he hadn't spent most of his time getting high in the wooded area behind school. This is relevant because just as the first shot goes into his lower abdomen, the three foot glass bong with the heavy ceramic base is hitting nacho on his left cheekbone just under the eye. The bong is really a thing of beauty from an engineering standpoint. It is a perfect cylinder of thick, heat resistant glass securely fused to a base made up of a soup can filled with concrete that has been embedded in a heavy ceramic base that has been colorfully decorated and glazed with skulls wearing party hats. There is one hole in this cylinder. In it is a rubber donut with a glass stem poking out. In that stem is a smaller, delicate glass stem with a blown bowl and a little handle for pulling it out. In the bowl is a glowing bud of sticky reefer waiting to give up its smoke.
This bong, without being too tedious, has been used and abused and superheated by Butch's crackhead girlfriend which explains why it shattered cutting the thick artery on Nacho's neck.
Both men are on the floor. Butch is screaming like a hog on the killing floor and pulls himself up Nacho's pant leg and swings the base of the bong onto his face like a gavel. The gun is just out of Nacho's reach and he feebly tries to pick glass out of his neck. Things are not supposed to be like this. He starts to fade out. The irony of the skulls wearing party hats is completely lost on him. There is bong water on the floor and a smoking wad of pot on his checkered chest.
At some point, Butch realizes he has shit his pants and he can't get up and didn't feel much like getting up anyhow........ (to be continued)