Don't buy a fucking poutine!

Well, we'd finally around at our sustinence centre for the day: Wendy's . Feather was getting antzy, as we couldn't find any leftovers in the garbage or on the tables, we sauntered around the restaurant, shooting subtle looks at the patrons, presebnting himself as a sad, unlucky soul in hopes that they'd buy us food.

During this time, me and Scrib decided decided to reminisce on our childhood. We found the playplace, with its slides and small amusements. We decided to recreate a 6 year old reality by jumping down the slides. Feather was absolutely shocked and disgusted by this act, and he had no problem expressing that.

"You guys are fucked!" he shouted at us. "You're causing a huge fucking scene. Those lovely people," he pointed at a table that a couple seniors sat at, looking severely disinterested in us, "were going to buy me a poutine!" His irrational rage was retarded; his face shone redder than the ketchup on the fries those old people weren't going to buy him.

"We're just having a bit of fun."

"No. You're being bitches. They were going to buy me food."

"First off, no they weren't. Second off, we'll just buy you some food."

"No!" Feather shouted. "Spend your money on booze so we can drink! Food is free! I would have a free poutine if not for you stupid fucks."

Scrib just looked at Feather. "I'm going to buy a poutine."

"You're fucking STUPID! Food is FREE! There are dumpsters, garbage cans, what the fuck! Spend your money on booze."

"If you don't want any, just leave.

So, he did. He glared angrily at us through the patio window while we savoured our poutine and decided he
not worth our traveling time. He said the same to us when we regrouped; that he could not travel with us if we were going to continue making such scenes.

This whole time, Julie, a woman whom only days early had had such fine finesse, continued to degrade her sanity.  I couldn't tell her that we were through, because her head was so thickened from the acid that she couldn't process sentences or respond in any sort of articulate manner. She trailed behind the group with her jaw hanging low and her eyes half crossed and faded into our memory.

We returned to my house with a fresh bottle of cider, drank it too fast, and passed the fuck out again before we woke up to another preporatory shit show in the precursor to our journey.