Cinco Days

"Everything is fucked!" Carlos is pacing in front of my desk and frantically saying this to me. "We don't have a pot to piss in my friend. The Chulo account is lost, the IRS is breathing down my fucking neck... dios mio this is bad."
I just sit there and gaze at the sweat beads forming on his bald head. It makes me think of morning dew glistening on a bowling ball left outside over night.
In the minutes that follow it hits me and I realize that it is all too late, and we are pretty much fucked. I'm just too stoned to give a shit about it, so I tell Carlos I need to use the toilet - but instead I leave the office and head down to Monroe's to buy a hardcore porno mag, 2 bottles of Yoo-hoo and some Coco Pops.
It isn't until much later, as I stare at the homeless guy asleep and stinking like a corpse on the bus ride home, that I mentally beat off to the thought of Shelby naked standing on my bed while eating a foot long cold cut combo. Streams of mayonnaise and mustard combining like small rivers run down the length of her torso, and form small pools on top of my stark white linens.