Cereal 8: Out of the Brimstone

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Eight: Out of the Brimstone, Into the Firetrap

Paul felt good. He grinned mightily. He lit a Nat Sherman Mint and inhaled.

Whomp. He crashed right into Dunne Bradstreet, or rather, Dunne knocked right into Paul. Our hero heard his cigarette hiss in a dark and ill-defined twenty-eighth avenue gutter almost immediately. His lighter fell, clicking against asphalt and bouncing once before transporting itself to the magical universe of lost lighters.

"Wha,’…Motherfucker…I mean, oh man. DUDE. Huh?" Dunne’s brain was gripped by an intense fog that belied the vice like grip he had on Paul’s shoulder. "Paul, dude, is that, like, umnh, you? Goddamn, it’s dark. I wish I could, like, find my glasses," he muttered. "DUDE."

Paul wished he could scramble for his lighter, even though it was in another dimension .

Dunne concentrated and looked Paul straight in the eye. "Dude, it is very very umnh important that you do not umnh by any means go back to your, like, room." Paul was frightened. Whenever Dunne made eye contact it was a matter of life and death. "Dude, it’s like, uh, imperative or something."

"Dunne, will you please tell me what the fuck is up? Why can’t I go back to my room? Is Bat Boy holding a goddamned seance?"

Paul’s roommate Greg "Bat Boy" Voinovich was a notorious goth who wore a plastic cape and plastic fangs all the time, even when he showered, and liked to pretend he slept hanging upside down in his closet.

"Dunne, what is it? I have to get to my room to get my junior sem shit together."

"Uh, like that’s the problem."

"What’s the problem, Dunne? Out with it."

"Well, Bat boy flushed all your junior sem stuff down with the eau de toilette, I mean, flusharino."

"WHAT?! WHAT?! But there’s no way he could’ve gotten all that stuff down one toilet! It filled my whole damn room."

"Well, you know how, like, you had hundreds and hundreds of pages of notes?"

Paul started making the Harvey Keitel wounded animal noise.

Dunne continued: "Uh, like apparently it WOULDN’T all fit down one toilet . That’s why there’s all those plumbers parked in the Rhodo Gardens lot. All the toilets in Foster-Scholz and some of the MacNaughton ones are toast. They’re airlifting in a bank of portatoilets tomorrow, just in case."

"UNNNNHHHHHHHHHUNNNNHHHHHHH!"

"Umnh, all of F-S is gunning for you. They think you like flushed it yourself."

"What sort of crackheaded idiot would do that? FUCK! FUCK!" Paul was hyperventilating.

"That’s the other thing. They found some PCP in your room, so res life and Community Safety are all prepared to kick your sorry ass out."

"How’d they get in my room? They’re not supposed to be able to come in unless you give them permission."

"Bat Boy."

"Shit. It was probably his PCP anyway. He’s such a fucking jerk. He’s been whining that he doesn’t have enough space to store his extra capes AND hang upside down."

"If you move off campus quietly I don’t think they’ll honor case you."

"How the hell am I supposed to get my stuff if I can’t get into my room?"

"No problem. Bat Boy threw all your stuff in a big pile and burned it."

"AAAAAA. AAAAAA. AAAAA." Paul was sobbing.

"The plumbers took up a collection for you."

"Why should they care?"

"Man, It’s Martin Luther King Day. They are getting the fat OT for being here after hours on a holiday. The union fucking loves you. They said you can come over for lamb chops anytime. DUDE."

"So why are you looking out for my ass?"

"Well, like, ‘cause I’m your friend and stuff. Plus the union like gave me cash to protect you. It should like about umnh cover your rent for the month plus it should cover my ass with the umnh housemates. You’re now a proud new inhabitant of the Firetrap. Congratulations my friend, you’re livin’ large."

Dunne broke an ice cold forty out of his backpack, cracked it open and dumped the contents over Paul’s head.

Paul whimpered and sniffled. It was damn cold. "You could’ve just let me drink it."

"House rules. I brought a couple extra ." He produced two more forties from his bag, handing one to Paul and opening the other for himself.

"Dunne, I have the feeling that this is the beginning of a Booze-iful friendship."