[kavinsky has little doubt about that. if ronan were the type to dream cocaine of his own, he'dve done it instead of having to sneak some out of the tent. but maybe he'll go into it now. now that he's fucking an addict.
the wrong addict, by kavinsky's estimation, but still.
he flips the tent flap open. there's a bed inside, a monstrosity of dense padding, firm springs. it's nothing you would find at a six-star hotel in dubai, but out here, the luxury is disproportionate and ridiculous. there's even a sprawling forty-something-inch flatscreen tv somehow hitched to the fabric wall, without caving it in. perhaps better: a bottle of vodka, half-empty, sitting on the sheets.]
Lie down on the bed, [the kid says, casual about his bossiness.] Lift up your shirt. You want just coke?
no subject
the wrong addict, by kavinsky's estimation, but still.
he flips the tent flap open. there's a bed inside, a monstrosity of dense padding, firm springs. it's nothing you would find at a six-star hotel in dubai, but out here, the luxury is disproportionate and ridiculous. there's even a sprawling forty-something-inch flatscreen tv somehow hitched to the fabric wall, without caving it in. perhaps better: a bottle of vodka, half-empty, sitting on the sheets.]
Lie down on the bed, [the kid says, casual about his bossiness.] Lift up your shirt. You want just coke?