Ghost of a Chance.

“Why do we always do this shit at night?” He grinned as he reached for the charred light bulb with one hand and the flecked remnants of methamphetamine with the other.
I shrugged. What can I say - he was philosophically right. Why do we always do this shit at night? It’s not as if we sleep during the day. Sleep - those little slices of death. How I loathe them.
I glance out the window moon swings round at supersonic speed - in the distance fat man calls out “Tamales! Tamales!” up in the hills.
Jose places the lighter under the bulb, open copper end to his mouth - flick! Gray smoke warps around inside like a Texas tornado swirling contortions of Blank Death. I see the dope hit and his eyes light up like florescent lamps. I take the bulb and repeat his actions. The metallic taste flows down to my lungs activating junk sick cells. The shock of what seems 60 watts tingle up my spine back of skull hair stands and pow to the forehead. I began to jerk in mechanical galvanized movements - vibrating like a tuning fork. Tongue clicks, teeth grind.
Jose was lying back on the tattered futon - blue basketball tank top with matching shorts. My lascivious eye wondered to his limp but long cock resting on those sagging balls. I wanted to reach over and grope that fucker - but, alas he being helplessly hopelessly heterosexual. No - this fucker was here only for my dope however he was not only eye candy but also a good conversationalist.
“You hear about Ivan?” Jose spat small balls of white spittle slowly flinging through the air. Clik-clik went his movements. A spastic robot. “Cops raided his place. Took everything.”
I don’t give a fuck - my thoughts wondered into last night. After an evening at a straight club with Jose, he picks up a chunky American girl and we three drunkenly return to my sordid flat. She wasn’t ugly - big boobs, big hips - the kind I guess straight guys jack off about. On the other hand, maybe it was just easy pussy.
Feigning sleep, I repair to my room only to peer through the cracked door to see in the blue light of the flickering television set Jose screwing that hooch. Didn’t give a rat’s ass about the girl, my bloodshot eye held it’s gaze on his long cock sliding rapidly in and out of her wet hole, his balls slapping against her vaginal lips the sighing grunt Jose made after five minutes of this and took care of myself - fell asleep in that mess.
Next morning, they both were gone. Jose returned in the afternoon and we went to score.
Standing in that alleyway of garbage and shit under a blinding yellow sun and dazzling blue Mexican sky - paranoia as white sedan with darkened windows roll up.
“Cartel” Jose mutters hands in pocket looking down.
The watchful eye of the taco vendor on the corner scrutinizing our every move.
After copping from Thing, broken sidewalk rushes under our feet back to my joint for a blast. Nothing on the tele, only orange juice in the fridge, filthy bathroom over run with ants. My carpet was covered in marijuana stems, food containers, meth papers…it’s amazing what you notice when you’re tweeking.
Jose wanted to watch porn.
Fine, I thought, torture me.
As the video progressed he got half a hard on. Nothing sexier than watching a cock grow in shorts unaided by hand. Inching upward, pulsing once, inching outward…
I digress…
In the most wicked sleazy perverted way, I leered at him and asked, “Hey, Jose, you wanna blow job?”
“Dude, you know I’m not a fag.” He retorts all the while groping his semi-stiff organ. “You’re cool and all, man, but don’t fucking ask me again.”
I sank deep in the futon - anywhere I wanted to be but there right now. I took the light bulb - flickwhooshweeee! I glance over to him - long and lean his body was, amber eyes encircled by thick dark lashes, copper skin, short shaggy hair. I lay there broken and in pain - vibrating in torrid lust amplified by methamphetamine.
“That girl I met last night?” He finally said, white tongue licking thick lips. “I got a date with her again tonight - we supposed to meet outside Las Pulgas.” Las Pulgas was a straight dance club on Avenida Revo - been there once. Groped drunk boys passing in the crowd. “So, I gotta jet. Gonna go home and get ready.”
After taking two more hits, we shook hands and said later to each other. I watched his skinny frame walk out the door. Why am I such a fool for these types of boys? Why am I addicted to this chaos and not only that but lustfully revel in it?
At that time I hated myself for it, worried of the outcome if it out come. Mortified by my addiction and sordid homosexuality. The conflicts that raged in me drove me literally insane. I care about nothing and no one. So jaded I have become - and antisocial. I loathe most faggots to this day - I see through all their amateurish attempts at deceit and seduction. I should know, I have tried them all. Trying to attain all that I have accomplished in the past and finally realizing, as it had done to me, leaving them bitter and empty. And like me, they always do this shit at night.
Two days later, Jose was found shot to death behind Hotel Coliseo off of Avenida Coahuila. I didn’t care.