Captain Morgan

"Don't you got a curfew or somethin'?" asked Fulton, realizing it was well past one a.m. and they were still sitting in the park, under a large maple tree. He could see his breath as he spoke, the white mist caused by the cool autumn air as much as from the weed he was smoking.

"Screw it," he said, "they don't care nohow." He clumsily rolled another joint and looked at his friend. "Ain't you got folks waitin' up for ya?"

"I don't got no folks, man! I live at the home, um," he struggled to find the right word, "foster home, yeah."

"No shit, Fulton, you ain't got no parents?"

"Not since I was eight." He took a long drag on the homemade cigarette.

"You're shitting me! How'd you manage that?" Portman tried to remember if he had known this before.

"I didn't manage nothin'. I just got taken away, that's all. Ward of the state." He reached across Portman for the half-empty bottle of Captain Morgan. "Do we got hockey tomorrow?"

"No, dude, tomorrow's Saturday." Portman answered, grabbing the bottle back and taking a swig before handing it to his companion.

"We got hockey on Saturdays, dumbass." Portman looked confused for a second.

"Then tomorrow's Sunday." Fulton shrugged and drank from the bottle until his throat began to burn. He coughed and laid back against the tree trunk. "Why'd ya get taken away? From your folks, I mean," Portman asked. Fulton was silent for a long time.

"Mother fuckers kept me in a fucking closet. Used me to make videos and made a shitload of money, too."

"Videos, man?"

"Yeah, Portman, you're sitting next to a goddamn porn star," Fulton explained, smiling weakly.

"Oh." There was a pause. "Sorry, man."

"It happened. There ain't nothing to be sorry about." Portman thought for a second.

"Who buys that shit, anyway?"

"Dude, I don't know, I never sold it." He heard someone approaching and turned to see who it was. "Fuck, here comes Julie, don't say nothin'." The tall blonde stood over them, smiling.

"You two aren't hard to find." Portman smiled and offered her a joint.

"Smoke, babe?" He laughed.

"No thanks, that stuff kills brain cells," she said, pulling the Captain Morgan bottle from it's resting place between Fulton's legs and taking a swig. "You two are awfully quiet," she commented, sitting down by the pair, "What'd I interrupt?"

"We were talking about Fulton being a porn star." Portman said, laughing.

"Asshole!" Fulton muttered.

"It's ok," soothed Julie, "I'm a whore." Portman choked on the smoke he was inhaling at this unexpected revelation. Portman leaned in close to her, touching her thigh.

"Really, babe, cause I got five bucks if you wanna blow me," he whispered in her ear. She laughed.

"Portman, you're high and drunk. Five bucks wouldn't even begin to cover the work I would have to do to get you off right now." Fulton laughed. She sighed. "You two are gonna look nice at practice tomorrow." Fulton glared at Portman.

"I thought you said tomorrow was Sunday, moron!" Fulton yelled. Julie laughed. The boys found her laugh contagious, and the three sat there, under the tree in the park, laughing into the night.

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