brother R

[cutthroat]

"jesus, i can't even--"

"whin was th'last time ay asked a fucken favor? fucken do this fer me, tara."

"i don't have time to raise three children, renton."

"jis' a couple o' weeks. please. ay gotta git 'er outta 'ere."

"..."

"please. fuck, please, ay won't let 'er take dorothy."

"alright."

"oy, ay love ya! yer th'fucken queen!"

"two weeks. two weeks, renton."

"sh'll leave t'morrow."

[cutthroat]

and for what a good boy he'd been, all the not-so-dead muck-eyed fiend got for christmas this year was a shotgun blast through his ceiling.

[cutthroat]

Underneath a filthspill sky, constellations of myth blotted out by pollution, Hollywood fondled a fistful of fresh polaroids with the rusted iron railing of the fire escape digging into her thighs and the smoke from Renton's damp-ended cigar curling into her eyes. Skewing the view of Ryni beaming brightly from the photos, edges blurred and colors mutated by faulty developing chemicals.

"Ay miss 'er."

"Yea," Distracted, Hollywood watched as the stale city air caught the edge of one snapshot and flipped it over the edge of the fire escape, into a dizzying freefall to a gritty cross-section of streets below. "We should go for your birthday.. I mean, Tar' wasn't that mad, right?"

Cracking a frown across his face, the not-so-dead boy turned not-so-hollow eyes to the sky. "No, naht Ryn," While sobriety was coming in faulted spurts (inspired by kidnapping plots and ballerinas and and increasingly vivid nightmares) in the new year, he was standing a lot straighter without that gorilla on his back and he didn't rattle like a scarecrow in a stiff breeze when he remembered what the underfed curve of hips felt like, the choking scent of old smoke and amphetamines. Thinking about her. Smearing thumbprints across a photo of Ryn crunching on a handful of fruit loops, Hollywood stitched her lips quietly. Waiting.

"Shiv.. ay keep dreamin' 'bout 'er.."

Instead of wagging her tongue triumphant in an I-told-you-so moment, Hollywood slumped deeper into a bonebending crouch, making the fire escape groan. Mentally congratulating herself for being able to see so much better than Renton despite one eye being dead in her skull, happy that Renton had finally realized he had no business knocking elbows with high class broads with trust funds and clear eyes, despite their deep-rooted issues Renton seemed to be so talented at digging out of addictions and obsessions.

"Oh."

The trash gemini's eyes met for a moment that splintered when Renton winced, tonguing the well-gnawed ass end of his cigar.

"Ay kno' it's.." Smoke coated his throat, and drowned his mumble in a gravelwash of regret. "Ay jis need t'kno' sh's okey.."

From behind a fan of photographs she was using to disguise rolling eyes, Hollywood cut Renton with a frown. "You know that's a relative term, right?" The wind peeled another photograph, one of Renton holding Ryn high on his shoulders with an embarrassed smile on his face, from Hollywood's polaroid deck and cast it high through a snarl of telephone wires. "Okay? It's totally fucking relative."

Silence choked a weary look from him, and she nodded with confidence he struggled to believe.

"She'll be back, Renton." A gust of smog sang between crush-steel buildings and Hollywood opened her fists to the sky, photographs spiraling from bony fingertips into a swirl of forgotten moments whipped across the cityscape. "She'll be back."

[cutthroat]

<center>

Man, no question, use to always know I was crazy
Guess it's safe to say I came a long way, baby

</center>