Dave Henderson

Dave's actually rather glad when Marijuana excuses himself to his bedroom; it means he doesn't have to keep choking down Hershey's Kisses, although being fed chocolate by Marijuana is a rather enjoyable experience, for all that Dave's appetite still isn't at one hundred percent. But Marijuana is always hungry so, glancing at the clock, Dave makes his way into the kitchen. Breakfast for dinner is romantic, especially when Dave knows exactly how his boss and lover likes his breakfast. The bacon is extra crispy, the scrambled eggs have more cheese melted into them than is healthy, the pancakes are more chocolate chips than pancakes, and the french toast is more egg than bread and by the time everything is finished and ready for consumption, Dave is rather proud of himself.

Wandering down the hallway, he pauses midway, able to hear his boss' voice murmuring softly, presumably at no one or nothing. He can pick out a few words - Tommy's name gets mentioned once or twice, his own name is whispered, Oscar's name is stated with vindictive relish - and Dave knows without really knowing. He takes another few steps and, yes, now he can hear what his boss is saying.

"... and that's the crux of it all, Heroin. Even after everything you did, after making me hurt those who cared about me, after making me alienate a good portion of the family, after making me ignore my responsibilities as a father and a leader, even after showing me the most blissful love I've ever felt while controlling me to the point where I gave up my pride just to get you and keep you, even after tearing me to pieces by leaving abruptly without giving me another chance even to prostrate myself before you and ask you not to go, I still love you. It's impossible for me not to love you. I don't think I'll ever stop. But that's the way you work, isn't it? You get inside people, inside their veins, their bodies, their minds, their hearts. You claim them utterly. And then you tear them asunder, leave without a backward glance, all the while knowing that they'll always be yours in a way, always yearn, always need, always scream for you with their last breath or their last shred of dignity. I should have known from the beginning. I should have listened to everyone who told me that being with you was a mistake. I should have..."

Marijuana laughs hollowly; Dave's fingers twitch with the need to reach out and comfort Marijuana. "Should haves don't matter now. What matters is that you don't. I'll always love you in that sick, twisted way you inspire in your addicts, yes, and the scars you left me with may never fully heal, but I can honestly say that you simply don't matter to me anymore. Not as a substance, not as a Drug, not as a lover, not as a brother."

Dave steps into view, his smile soft, understanding, and carrying a hint of pride. Marijuana looks up and a smile of his own flashes across his face, hard and unforgiving. "Happy Valentine's Day, amante." The old nickname is spat out like a curse and Marijuana offers the phone to Dave. "Anything to say to Heroin's answering machine, Davey-boy?"

Dave reaches out, a smirk curling across his lips. "He doesn't need you. I don't need you. We're all better off without you. Don't ever contact us. Don't ever come back here. You are not necessary." Dave hangs up, tosses the phone down to the carpet by Marijuana's feet, and extends a hand, his eyes dancing darkly. "Come on, Mari, I made you breakfast."

"It's eight o'clock at night and we've been eating chocolate all day."

Dave raises an eyebrow as if to say '... and?' and Marijuana laughs, reaching up to clasp Dave's hand, allowing his lover to lead him into the kitchen for yet another feast, leaving the phone behind on the floor.

My second December at the Highway is almost here. Really, I think everyone forgets that I'm the youngest, the newest. They all have so much experience with the ups and downs that come over the course of a year and I'm left to rush and catch up to it all and try to get as helpful as the Highway Bike can really be.

George Harrison on the twenty-ninth to lead us into December, Altamont on the sixth, John Lennon on the eighth, Ian Stewart on the twelfth, and... then the twentieth. But I don't want to think about that just yet and, anyway, we can all tell that Cam's doing most of the thinking for us. So the last day that any of us will be happy until christmas is this Sunday and the bossman won't even be with us then. I understand, of course, but it doesn't make me worry any less as I rush around trying to get things ready but only end up pissing everyone off because I'm clumsy and shaky.

I don't even know where this is coming from, really. Maybe the bossman's melancholy really is contagious, or maybe- Seth, are you around at all?

Whoever just got Matt hyped up on sugar, I'm blaming you for his decision to attack my beard with glitter-glue. That shit's practically impossible to get out.

Wes kept saying that just because he has red hair doesn't mean he's Irish and therefore, he doesn't have to wear green today. But as the only person at the shop who can at least confirm some Irish heritage, it's my duty to make sure everyone celebrates properly. Which, in Wes' case, meant plying him with hash and blowjobs until he was too high not to say yes when I waved the bottle of green hair dye in his face. So, now Wes' hair and his beard are a bright, shocking green. And because my hands are all twitchy these days, I couldn't do his eyebrows and red eyebrows plus green hair and beard... it makes the image even more hilarious.

Wish the boss would party with us tonight. But he said he's got a thing tomorrow and can't be hungover, so he's taking a few of Wes' guards and a couple of Cam's techies and they're going to do all the runs tonight so us high-ranking employees can get trashed. At least he's going to make green jello shooters out of green apple vodka, though, before he takes off tonight to work!

There's still some hair dye left. Maybe if I promise Cam that I'll buy him an iPad the moment they're released...

Marc gave me a new friend last night! Her name is Rehab- Mira and she has the prettiest blonde hair! She let me french-braid it, after she shot up and I had some lines, and then we played Candyland and then I painted her nails bright neon green! And we made friendship bracelets with our names on them and drew pictures for Marc with my crayons and watched three whole hours of my Spongebob Squarepants DVDs and then we played two whole hours of Dance Dance Revolution but it was hard for her with all her pretty skirts and pettithingies so, of course, I won every game! And then we toked a lot and I showed her the pictures of me in the wedding dress and she was stoned, so she said I was very pretty but I think she was just being polite but that's okay because her hair is so beautiful when it's french-braided!

And Wes tried to come over but Marc told me that wasn't such a good idea so I said we'd have lunch tomorrow and then he was mean and went all 'blah blah blah, we're not dating, why have lunch when we can just fuck' so I'm mad at him now. What, just because he's my most immediate supervisor now, he can go all bitchy on me?

Oh! We also made ornaments for the christmas tree that's still in the back room. But... someone has to clean that up soon. None of us want to move his presents. Won't be me. You guys can't make me, I don't care if I'm on the bottom of the chain of command. Won't.

I don't think I've ever seen so many christmas cookies. Even when the bossman bakes, he doesn't bring down whole platters for us to munch on. We had almond cookies and snickerdoodles and sugar cookies shaped like weed leaves... and all with weed butter! I think my favourite were the orange-chocolate ones, the ones that the bossman called... orangen-schokoplatzchen. I probably didn't spell that right, but I can ask Hazel for the correct spelling and pronounciation when we go upstairs to thank him for all the baked goods.

( Letter written to Dylan, then crumpled up into a ball, ending up under Dave's bed. )

Now to go attempt to get Matt to stop eating all the obscenely shaped cookies. I swear, only at the Highway can you eat a penis-shaped sugar cookie and get blitzed out of your mind off it.

Every blade in the field,
Every leaf in the forest,
Lays down its life in its season,
As beautifully as it was taken up.
- Henry David Thoreau

( Left for Heroin. )

Cam, I have more lists to go over with you after you check in on Wes again. Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm supposed to be on vacation but after three days of not working, I'm starting to feel useless restless.

And just as a general note to the Highway crew, I'm making breakfast tomorrow morning, just like I do every Saturday morning. I expect you all to be there, no matter how hungover you are from your post-delivery drinking. Matt? Put on pants this time. You too, bossman.

No holds barred, he said, give me your all, he said, don't hold back and neither will I, he said. And while my twice-a-week sparring matches with the bossman are useful especially since Eris- I think this one did more harm than good. To him, of course, because I broke at least three of his ribs and shattered his jaw twice, but to me as well.

I think he forgot who I was for a moment.

... and also forgot that, unlike him, I can't heal freakishly fast. Cam, I need you and your handy first aid kit over here. And while Marc and I were across the street, did anyone convince Matt that he can't make a fort out of the huge box that weird tree came in? I don't feel like being bribed into playing pirates or aliens or some shit like that.

( Dylan. )

I was looking over old photo albums with the boss while she we ate lunch. Well, they're not really albums, more like notebooks with a bunch of photos taped to the pages, but we found some relatively normal ones and some that were obviously inspired by copious amounts of alcohol. I don't even remember what we were thinking in the last one. And there is one that I'm keeping for myself; it's mine. Eventually, we came across last year's christmas pictures and the subject of holiday bonuses and vacations came up. Usually, I take mine after christmas, after the rush, but the boss decided to move it up a bit. That means I get Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday off. More than two days off in a row is practically unheard of unless it's the holiday season, so I'm going to take advantage of it, get my shopping done.

Dylan, what are you up to on Tuesday?

( Private. )

Cam and I need to go haul the fake trees up from storage. And the ornaments; I hope the glass ones were packed away properly last year, I don't want to spend my Sunday trying to pick up little pieces of glass from a dirt floor. Bosslady, I'm assuming you want the biggest tree in your apartment, yeah? It'll be set up before you're back from your run.

It's like we're all holding our breath, awaiting the boss' decision regarding Wes and his continued service at the Highway.

Don't get me wrong, job security here is practically set in stone; we're in it for the long haul, for life, however short or long that ends up being. If we betray our training, either consciously or as a result of outside interference, we get demoted, spend time among the lower ranks of the drug runners, and hope to impress, hope to please, until we can rise up the ranks again. I remember Cam's relapse years ago, after Bryn left for the first time. I remember how absolutely livid the boss was when he felt something other than himself in Cam's system and how Cam spent weeks scrubbing toilets and delivering half-ounces and quads to the smallest of small-time dealers before he managed to work his way back up into the boss' good graces. I remember Wes' first... relapse, I suppose you could call it, I remember the boss cleaning up the body dealing with the aftermath and then sending Wes back down the ranks to watch over his high school connections. I remember my own betrayals, relapsing after that one horrible night when Marijuana was laying dead in the dirt, I remember speaking to those who would claim me, one a valued brother and one the boss' worst enemy, and the repercussions that followed. I remember daring to love outside the Highway circle and the continuous disdain I'm still receiving for that betrayal, and I remember all the punishments I received for those actions.

This is different, too different to be a matter of simple punishment.

Never before have I seen the boss' work and effort demolished like this. As a result of the efforts of a deity who shall remain nameless - and I really hope the boss doesn't start a fight over this - Wes is back to square one. Of course, Marijuana has an extensive power base and it wouldn't be difficult for him to retrain Wes, recalibrate his mind. But as powerful and as dedicated to his employees as he is, he is also, at his heart, the stoner. He's lazy. And from what I'm receiving of his thoughts today, I know he's weighing which would take more effort; retraining Wes and having him take his rightful place in the Highway crew once more... or cutting his losses, getting rid of Wes which means- and choosing a new bodyguard from the ranks.

And all of this in December, when the boss would rather stumble around drunk and singing 'Imagine' horribly off-key than actually think about anything overly important. I worry for him. For Wes, as well, but mostly for him.

Dave finally bothered to take the bachelor party pictures to get developed! Of course, Wes grabbed the ones that featured him and that random stripper hated that bitch and, ummmmm, Cam took a few to lock up in his room for reasons that I'm not supposed to tell Mischa, but the best ones were of me! I keep telling everyone that I should be allowed to wear that wedding dress we stole all the time but Mari- Marc took it away from me.

I, however, will always have the pictures! Don't I look like a princess? I think I do.

Whoops. I think I heard glass breaking, which means Marc's too drunk to keep himself from falling into the shelves. I'm gonna go see what's going on and then try to convince Dave to take me out for ice cream! He could use some ice cream. And Wes and I ran out of whipped cream and chocolate sauce.

Marc, I want my wedding dress back!

Being devoted to not one, but two Drug Gods - one in life, love, and service and one deep within my mind and bodily system - has taught me a considerable amount about possession and possessive love. They hold tight to what's theirs, even to the point of causing pain discomfort when a loved one threatens to leave. My boss, especially, has a tendency toward paranoia, toward extreme jealousy, when there is but a hint of another encroaching on... for lack of a better term here, his territory. He has a tendency to jump to conclusions, to assume the worst, to narrow his eyes and grit his teeth and dig in with all that he's worth. He has a tendency to overreact, to lash out against what he sees as a threat against the love he shares with what he views as his.

And me? After nine years of his power in my mind, after nine years of being so emotionally connected to him... in this matter, I am not so different from him. Like loving God, like devoted mortal.

Cam, I have a task that requires your particular skills.

( Dylan. )

( Dylan. )

Headed back to work a few days ago and not a moment too soon. It's that time of year again, the time of year when my boss drops everything and sinks down into a state of mourning; George Harrison on the twenty-ninth, then the sixth, then Lennon on the eighth. He used to spend the ten days between Harrison and Lennon tripping continuously but I'm pretty sure that's not an option anymore. Still, I know he'll find some way to be too intoxicated to work which means I get to rework the schedules and attempt to make sure that either Cam or myself are present for runs worth more than fifty grand. At least I don't have to watch over him this year. He's got a husband for that now. There was this one time, I found him on the roof and he was in the garden, spinning himself around and around in the dirt. When I asked him later on what he thought was going on? Stuck in a blue and black whirlpool. Acid, man, no good for anyone.

I'm so tired. I've got a run at midnight, but I don't think anyone would care if I put my head down on the counter and took a little nap, right? I've got Matty with me, I'll tell him to elbow me if a customer comes in.

A guilt-ridden Drug God is an interesting - and profitable - thing. I have a new set of calligraphy pens, a bottle of deep green ink, and parchment so thick and beautiful that I almost feel guilty about marring the white with green. Or does the white infect the beautiful green? Outshining it, outstripping it, wrapping itself around messily scrawled words and choking out the meaning?

I'm speaking in metaphors I don't understand, that aren't my place to understand... or do they have any meaning at all? Deep thought isn't my strength at the moment; the boss brought a huge dinner down to me at the counter and ordered me to eat all of it. The first brownie didn't help, the second enabled me to have a few bites but to finish everything, I had to smoke the crystal that collected at the bottom of the garbage bag that held our last twenty pounds of weed until the truck comes tomorrow morning. As a result, I'm stoned out of my mind but at least I cleared my plate.

After the early evening runs, I have the rest of the night off. I can go to bed early, rest up for a lazy Sunday, to be spent giving Cam further training. He'll be ready in time. He has to be ready in time. And since I have the night off, I might call upstairs and see if I can guilt a bit of the boss' private Columbian stash out of him. It'll be a good night, although the boss mentioned something that has me worried. Marijuana chatting with my boyfriend? Well, that can never be good.

( Private. )

Anyone have any suggestions when it comes to talking a Drug God out of buying marshmallow blasters for his entire crew and waging a marshmallow war in a head shop filled with expensive and breakable glass bongs?

Boss, as fun as I think it would be, we've got a deal worth a hundred and fifty grand going down tonight. I think we all need to have our heads in the game.

( Private; tentatively viewable by Heroin due to shared... interest in the subject matter. )

Marijuana's been back since last night. Damn, does his tan look hot. He was obviously able to tell that I took the Lambo out for a spin but since I did feed their pets for more than a week, I think I was entitled to one little drive in that beautiful car. Besides, he's been running himself ragged since they got home; right now he has his head buried in the accounting books and is trying to figure out just how I increased profits by four percent while he was gone. Two words, boss-my-man, Red Bull. And, well, over-scheduling the lower drug runners and working them into the ground helped as well.

Oh, right, he wants me to tell everyone that honeymoon souvenirs will be delivered this weekend and thank you notes for wedding gifts will follow shortly. And since he's forgetful and, well, running around the shop like crazy to get all caught up, if he told anyone he'd visit them or if you want to stop by the shop, let me know, yeah? I'm already drafting the schedule for the next week and it'd be useful to know in advance.

Highway crew, listen up! Today the boss and I realized that I'm the only one who's been through a staff reorganization back when Jake, uh, retired and we haven't been over the protocol thoroughly. So, even though there won't be a reorganization for months weeks years, we're starting a new training cycle on Sunday to deal with that oversight. Cam, you'll be training with me. Wes, you'll be training with Cam. Don't know how I feel about that; Wes taking Cam's place when Cam takes mine. I don't think he can- Matt and Bryn, don't feel left out. You'll be getting extra weapons training with the boss on Sunday. I've taken out the section on reorganization out of the protocol binder and made copies; you'll each get one over breakfast tomorrow.

However, all of that can wait until the weekend; tomorrow, it's Dylan's birthday and tonight? I'm baking a cake!

The Highway feels somewhat empty with its immortal residents off on their honeymoon. They left this morning in a flurry of suitcases and happy goodbyes and, in Marijuana's case, rules. Too many rules, from the hard drug allotments for those of us who are shared between gods to detailed instructions on feeding their pets and tending their plants to... 'Davey-boy, I'm only giving you the extra set of Lambo keys so you can move it if there's a fire, don't you dare take it out of the parking lot for anything less than a disaster'.

Like I'd disobey him!

( Dylan. )

It's an odd feeling, when he's gone. I miss him, of course, but it's a chance to run the shop by myself and show him that I am truly a benefit to his training. Plus, he actually has a throne now. When I feed the pets, I need to try it out. Cam, my second-in-command, we need to go over the schedule for the next week. We're getting a shipment tomorrow, a huge one, and I want it all out on the streets and trickling its way down through the minor dealers by Friday.

I'm almost finished my book. I guess... another three weeks to decide on how to frame the ending - I know how it ends, it's just figuring out what light to portray it in - and then another two or three weeks for a final edit and it should be finished. Knowing I'll be done soon, well, it isn't necessarily a good thing, but it's a load off my mind. And I did get a self-publishing contract for my birthday but I'm still flip-flopping between using it to publish a poetry collection or using it for the novel. Publishing a very thinly veiled autobiography... well, perhaps the book is best kept for trusted eyes.

I went back and did a brief edit of the beginning and it reminded me; our my anniversary is coming up. On November twenty-eighth, I will have been serving Marijuana for nine years. Of course, I'm trusting the bossman's word on the exact date, I don't really remember the first week or so. Still, I mentioned it to him and he promised to spend the whole day with me.

... damnit, I have to go attempt to convince the bossman that, no, he does not need to go cop hunting somehow get his hands on an authentic badge for his NYPD costume. I really don't feel like having to call the legal team in any time soon.

Huh. Anyone seen my boss?

Cam, he left his cell phone on the counter. He's a dealer, he never- Means we'll have to get creative. Do your thing, man.

( Private. )