Smokin’ Cigs & Talkin’ Shit

 

Mark Louie & Stevie on the patio of the Betty Ford Center. 1996

 

MARK: “Across the board, that Debbie is the worst counselor I’ve ever had, in any fucking rehab, that I’ve ever been in. Fucking hands down.”

LOUIE: “What do you want? She’s an ex-table dancer meth addict from Fontana.”

MARK: “Little fucking compassion would be nice, Jesus it’s like scared straight, the lifetime version with that broad.”

STEVIE: “You’re an alky and a crack head; the last thing you need is compassion. What? You want her to french kiss your cock.”

LOUIE: “Nah, Nah, Stevie, she talks to everybody like they’re shit. Fuck her with her cheap red shoes, swap meet Prada handbag. Bitch probably has a seven-year loan on that Lexus.”

STEVIE: “I’m here because my life is an absolute disaster from Oxy and Vodka. You think I give a Desert Hot Springs fuck about Debbie Carlucci and her fake handbag?”

MARK: “Yeah. You got a point; I’m really screwed if this doesn’t pan out. I’m homeless, jobless. Thank God for Motion Picture insurance. I wouldn’t be in this high-end daycare center.”

LOUIE: (ignoring MARK) “Fuck you Stevie, Don’t change the subject. Her husband looks Like a Sinaloa Cartel boss.”

MARK: “Yeah. I saw him the other Day. Looks shady, incidentally, at one point my mother was the head nurse at a rehab. And at the same time she was living with a big time coke dealer.”

STEVIE: “Really? No wonder why you’re so fucked up. Hey Louie, give me a cigarette. Those Export A’s are the fucking real deal!”

LOUIE: “They are also $8.00 a pack, buy your own you cheap fuck, mister garment industry mogul, you been bumming butts from me since the day you got here.”

STEVIE: “Awe. Poor Louie. Write about it in your journal or tell that half a fag of a counselor of yours. Maybe he’ll give you a tissue for your issue.”

LOUIE: (flipping off Stevie) “Yeah he seems a little light in the loafers, huh? All that lovey-dovey recovery shit gets on my nerves. He’s another one whose home life is probably twisted. Probably cruises hustlers on Santa Monica Blvd, after his shift.”

MARK: “Hey both of you listen for a minute. (He motions them both forward and speaks low) Mygirlfriendd stashed an ounce of blow in the care package She dropped off. I want to’ sneak over to the kitchen get some chore boy and baking soda.”

STEVIE & LOUIE: “What the fuck is a Chore Boy.”

MARK: “You know, screen to smoke coke with.”

LOUIE: “You kidding man?”

MARK: “Nope. My roommate paid for it. Said he wanted to try it. I was like, okay. He sent a check to my girlfriend for it. She drove out here and delivered it.”

LOUIE: “Fenix! Jesus! Did the check clear? I wouldn’t trust that guy.Post-traumatic Stress from ’Nam! Fuck man delusions of grandeur. Man, that dude is fucked up.”

MARK: “Yes the check cleared, forget about that. Can you guys cover me while I run over to the dining hall to round up my needs? I got needs.”

LOUIE: “I’m just saying, that guy is not playing with a full deck, as a matter of fact, ha, Jokers only, you know what I’m saying. Says he was in Nam, but he isn’t really even old enough. I did the math; he would have been fourteen years old at the peak of Nam. I gotcha Marky do what you need to do.”

STEVIE: “I ain’t covering for shit. I don’t want to hear about it again. Free basin’ in a rehab? With Fenix? That mental case, your gonna’ introduce him to the pipe! In a rehab! He’ll go batshit homicidal. Come on man! Are you fucking nuts!”

MARK: “Nope. Just an addict…like you.”

LOUIE: “Stevie. Don’t get all high and mighty, watch the attitude. You had your girl stash a quart of vodka in the bushes. You picked it up on the serenity walk and guzzled it down before the morning process group.”

STEVIE: “LOU! Why the fuck you ratting’ me out over here?”

MARK: “Really? And you’re judging me?”

LOUIE: “Now we both got something on you.”

MARK: “Fenix is cool man. He might have work for me if I can’t get my studio gig back. He’s part Cherokee; he raises Tundra Shepard’s for the CIA, guys Loaded! His family owns tons of property in Texas.”

LOUIE: “Bunch of horseshit. Guy was born with a silver spoon up his ass. His family has money; He’s still sucking on his mammy’s tit. What the fuck, he raises Tundra Shepards for the CIA. Man, you buying that bullshit?”

MARK: “I dunno what to believe anymore.”

STEVIE: “What’s that suppose to mean? The last person you trust is some asshole in a rehab, who has all these ideas and promises.”

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