at me, big smile on his face.
I followed Noah along the street lined with dirty snow, to a bar that had been boarded up. Cars whizzed by behind us, churning up piles of slush onto the sidewalk.
“This place doesn’t look open,” I said.
He smirked. “Naw, dude. We’re not trying to hit up the bar. It’s upstairs.” He pointed at a little door to the left of the bar, then he walked to it and banged on a metal screen door.
About a minute later, a tubby bald guy in a wifebeater peered through the screen door at us. “Hey Noah,” he said. “Ain’t seen you around here in a long minute.”
“Yeah, I know. Homework and shit. Can we come in? It’s cold as balls out here on the street.”
The guy eyed me, then sucked through his teeth. “Is this your uncle or something?”
Noah laughed. “He’s a friend.”
“You know he doesn’t like strangers,” the man said. “Not after last time.”
“It’s cool,” I said. “I’m cool.”
Noah shot me a look that said you’re not helping , so I shut my mouth and kept my eyes on my shoes.
“Last time wasn’t my fault,” Noah said. “Come on, open up.”
The man behind the screen door sighed, then he pushed it open. “Whatever it is, make it quick. Some people are coming by in a minute, and it might not be good for you guys to be around for it. Unhappy customers, you know. Might get ugly.”
I followed the two of them up a set of creaky stairs with flaking paint and into an apartment on the second floor. A cloud of smoke burst from the door as our host opened it.
Inside, it was like a drug paradise: dozens of bongs and pipes lying around, a collection of couches and bean bag chairs and walls covered in blacklight posters of mushrooms. I counted six people lounging on the various places to sit. At the center of it all was a man with cornrows and tattoos on his face. Smoke billowing through the air glowed in the light coming in through the windows. Some beastly gangsta music thumped from enormous speakers stacked against the walls. It was as if I’d just stepped into a rap video.
Then I noticed the gun on the coffee table, right next to a tin of syringes.
“Who the fuck is this?” shouted the man with the cornrows, pointing at me. He snapped his fingers and someone turned down the music.
“This is Candle,” Noah said, then he proceeded to ignore me as he sat at a table with the tubby guy and started packing weed into a bong.
Cornrows left the couch and sauntered across the room to me. He looked me up and down, flashing his tongue piercing when he opened his mouth. “What you need?”
“I, uh, need to get a fake ID.”
He sniffed. “How long til you’re 21?”
“Yeah, it’s not to buy beer.”
He frowned. “I know, man, that was supposed to be a joke. What state?”
“I don’t know, I guess Colorado is fine.”
As Noah coughed his way through a bong hit, Cornrows stared at me. I wanted to leave. The hair on the back of my neck tickled my skin.
Finally, Cornrows sniffed again. “Alright, man, we good. Follow me.”
I tossed a glance at Noah, but he wasn’t paying attention to me. Cornrows walked me into a back bedroom, where I was immediately hit by a blast of neon green light. The light came from a computer tower, which had a clear glass door on one side showing the innards. On a desk above the tower, three widescreen monitors blinked as he hit the power buttons on all of them in three quick jabbing motions.
“Do you build your own computers?” I said.
He tapped the tower. “I got this baby overclocked all the way to 200% of stock, but it won’t boot past BIOS at anything above that. I think it’s the RAM timings, maybe. Anyway, I ain’t got time to fuck with it right now.”
“Water cooled?” I said, spitting out the only piece of home computer building trivia I knew.
He flashed me a grin. “Yeah. Thermaltake system with a single 120mm fan. Had a scare the other day with a little leak, but it’s all good
I followed Noah along the street lined with dirty snow, to a bar that had been boarded up. Cars whizzed by behind us, churning up piles of slush onto the sidewalk.
“This place doesn’t look open,” I said.
He smirked. “Naw, dude. We’re not trying to hit up the bar. It’s upstairs.” He pointed at a little door to the left of the bar, then he walked to it and banged on a metal screen door.
About a minute later, a tubby bald guy in a wifebeater peered through the screen door at us. “Hey Noah,” he said. “Ain’t seen you around here in a long minute.”
“Yeah, I know. Homework and shit. Can we come in? It’s cold as balls out here on the street.”
The guy eyed me, then sucked through his teeth. “Is this your uncle or something?”
Noah laughed. “He’s a friend.”
“You know he doesn’t like strangers,” the man said. “Not after last time.”
“It’s cool,” I said. “I’m cool.”
Noah shot me a look that said you’re not helping , so I shut my mouth and kept my eyes on my shoes.
“Last time wasn’t my fault,” Noah said. “Come on, open up.”
The man behind the screen door sighed, then he pushed it open. “Whatever it is, make it quick. Some people are coming by in a minute, and it might not be good for you guys to be around for it. Unhappy customers, you know. Might get ugly.”
I followed the two of them up a set of creaky stairs with flaking paint and into an apartment on the second floor. A cloud of smoke burst from the door as our host opened it.
Inside, it was like a drug paradise: dozens of bongs and pipes lying around, a collection of couches and bean bag chairs and walls covered in blacklight posters of mushrooms. I counted six people lounging on the various places to sit. At the center of it all was a man with cornrows and tattoos on his face. Smoke billowing through the air glowed in the light coming in through the windows. Some beastly gangsta music thumped from enormous speakers stacked against the walls. It was as if I’d just stepped into a rap video.
Then I noticed the gun on the coffee table, right next to a tin of syringes.
“Who the fuck is this?” shouted the man with the cornrows, pointing at me. He snapped his fingers and someone turned down the music.
“This is Candle,” Noah said, then he proceeded to ignore me as he sat at a table with the tubby guy and started packing weed into a bong.
Cornrows left the couch and sauntered across the room to me. He looked me up and down, flashing his tongue piercing when he opened his mouth. “What you need?”
“I, uh, need to get a fake ID.”
He sniffed. “How long til you’re 21?”
“Yeah, it’s not to buy beer.”
He frowned. “I know, man, that was supposed to be a joke. What state?”
“I don’t know, I guess Colorado is fine.”
As Noah coughed his way through a bong hit, Cornrows stared at me. I wanted to leave. The hair on the back of my neck tickled my skin.
Finally, Cornrows sniffed again. “Alright, man, we good. Follow me.”
I tossed a glance at Noah, but he wasn’t paying attention to me. Cornrows walked me into a back bedroom, where I was immediately hit by a blast of neon green light. The light came from a computer tower, which had a clear glass door on one side showing the innards. On a desk above the tower, three widescreen monitors blinked as he hit the power buttons on all of them in three quick jabbing motions.
“Do you build your own computers?” I said.
He tapped the tower. “I got this baby overclocked all the way to 200% of stock, but it won’t boot past BIOS at anything above that. I think it’s the RAM timings, maybe. Anyway, I ain’t got time to fuck with it right now.”
“Water cooled?” I said, spitting out the only piece of home computer building trivia I knew.
He flashed me a grin. “Yeah. Thermaltake system with a single 120mm fan. Had a scare the other day with a little leak, but it’s all good
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