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**12-26-2014, 11:36 PM**

“If I could wake up in a different place, at a different time, could I wake up as a different person?”
― Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

The night sky is overcast, a lazy layer of clouds floats over the earth. Streetlights light up the night, until a distinct shade of burnt orange kisses the bottom of the clouds on the horizon, giving the illusion of a sunset worth watching. A slight breeze blows through the empty streets, pushing a crushed, flattened, paper cup closer to the sidewalk. It bounces and rolls, oblong. That is, until the front right tire of a Cadillac Escalade rolls over it, flattening it further and smearing it into the ground. Its windows are rolled down, and a hand gripping a lit cigarette hangs out the passenger’s side window, its owner blowing a trail of smoke out into the world.

The passenger, a dark-haired woman in her early twenties, lets her head fall back into the seat before shooting her eyes over to the driver and ashing her cigarette into the street.

“So David, when are you gonna tell me how you got all this?” she asks in a half-dazed tone, blinking a few times to keep herself awake as the driver pulls up to a red light. He scoffs and lets his hands rest on the steering wheel as the car comes to a stop.

“It’s Patrick,” the driver says with slight annoyance, “and what the fuck do you mean ‘how I got all this’?”

“Oh, you’re Patrick now? I’m so sorry, I just can’t quite keep up with all these name changes. Bite me.”

“I’d lose the attitude if I were you, Flannery.”

“Flannery? What, did you think that one up on the spot or something?”

“Does it matter? You wanna keep up with your outrageous spending, you’re gonna have to get used to it.”

“Fuck you. Light’s green, by the way.”

Indeed it is. Patrick puts his foot on the gas and “Flannery” takes another drag of her cigarette.

“You never answered my question, by the by.”

“You were serious?”

“You’re damn right I’m serious. Who’d you blow to get a brand new fuckin’ Escalade? ‘Specially considering it was you who kept trying to rein in my spending like hello! If you’re saying I’m spending wasteful from a seventy thousand dollar car then Houston we got a fucking problem here.”

“I figured you were smarter than this, Flan.”

“I will jump out of this seat right now if you call me that again. Won’t even see me coming, I’ll tell you what.” She dons a Southern accent to match her ire and her grip on the cigarette tightens. Sighing, she drops the cigarette out the window before taking a deep breath. “What the fuck did you do, Patrick?”

Her nose crinkles as the name escapes her mouth.

“Not a fan of the name, I see.”

“Stop stalling.”

“Well, I figured the fact that we’re changing our names would clue you in just a little bit as to what I have planned.”

“Oh no, I got that part. I’m past wondering if there’s a plan because even when you’re not changing our names, or trying to get me drunk enough to sell a kidney on the black market, or offering shares of some fake company--”

“Hey! Those were real companies! I just don’t own any shares of them.”

“You know what I mean. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing or not doing because you’re always planning something. You always have some fucking get rich quick scheme up your sleeve. So, just tell me. What’s your plan this time?”

“Well, two things. First, we aren’t getting rich quick. We are rich. Second, if I told you now, what fun would that be?”

“Fun? You think riding around being an unwitting pawn is fun?”

“Wouldn’t know. Never been the pawn, that I remember.”

“Of course not, you’re the mastermind.”

“Yeah, and as the mastermind, I advise that you don’t pry into this shit. We’re already rich and all we have to is be Patrick and Flannery Kissinger.”

“Shit, you mean that’s someone’s actual name and you didn’t just make it up?”

“How low is your opinion of me? Sheesh. Thinking I’d come up with something that fucking

. Flannery as a first name? Yeah no, that’s all some motherfuckers down in good ol’ Alabama or Mississippi or some other hick bullshit state. Flannery, man I feel sorry for you.”

“Oh, I feel sorry for myself. How much are these two worth, anyway?”

“Way more than we are.”

“Like that’s saying much. They could be worth a couple slips reading IOU one McChicken and be worth more than us."

"Always with the melodrama."

"I'm not being melodramatic. I'm being realistic. Saying 'way more than we are' is about as helpful to me as telling a blind person he's supposed to go through the fucking red door as opposed to the purple door. It isn't helping me in the slightest."

"Okay fine. What comes to your head when someone tells you the people whose lives you're gonna steal are worth way more than you?"

"A lot of fucking money, normally."

"Double it."

"No way."

"Yes, way."

"You're bullshitting me. These two are worth two McChickens and Ashton Kutcher's gonna pop out of the CD player and tell me I'm being punked. This car isn't even a Caddy, it's just a bicycle and the only reason I haven't fallen off is the power of cartoon physics or something like that."

"When was the last time you smoked pot again?"

"About five minutes before you picked me up, why?"

"Yeah, I figured. You're gonna have to cut that out of your daily ritual Flan. I don't think it's very becoming of a lady to hit the ganj. Lucky you though, the cancer sticks can stay."

"Damn right they are. I'd have to choke a bitch if you took those away. And by bitch I mean you."

"Yeah, I got that. Loud and clear."

"Where we headed, anyway? I mean, yeah, middle of bumblefuck nowhere, Iowa is about as exciting as watching paint dry on a field of growing grass but still, I'd like to know we aren't heading somewhere even more excruciating."

"Phoenix."

"Arizona? Road trip? Nice. Why Phoenix though? Sounds about as coherent a choice as like Harlan, Kentucky or some bullshit."

"Harlan? Someone's been watching a little too much Justified."

"I don't care what you say, I'd let Boyd Crowder do whatever he wanted with me."

"Yeah, didn't need to know that."

"Oh fuck yeah you do. I want that mental image burned into your mind."

"My nightmares will be sure to thank you."

"That's all I ask. But why Phoenix? Seriously, if you won't answer any of my other questions, answer that one. We don't have to head to any galas or something do we? Because I'm pretty sure stoner chic isn't gonna fly at one of those things."

"I have a little bit of business to take care of there."

"Should I even ask what kind of business this is, or is it off limits?"

"Well, since you were nice enough to ask--"

"Yeah never mind."

"--I've decided to become a professional wrestler."

Laughter. Hysterical laughter.

"

."

"How does that make me a

?"

"You wanna be half naked, groping some other greased up half naked dude for fun and profits? Sounds like a

thing to do to me. Oh, don't worry, I won't judge you for being a queer. I'll just laugh a little every time I see you, so in reality it won't be any different than how I react to you normally."

"Cunt."

"Speaking of cunts, you hear from your psycho bitch ex recently? She's dead. Slashed her wrists or something."

"And not a thing of value was lost."

"Hey, not saying there was. Just weird that the last three girlfriends you've had, they've all ended up killing themselves. What, does your dick cure cancer or something? Can they just not go back or something?"

"Y'know, for my sister, you sure do care a lot about my dick."

"No, I care about those poor girls who've all taken their lives."

More laughter.

"Okay fine. I'm guessing I have to be your beard in this new role."

"Alright enough with the

shit."

"Never. As I was saying, ladies talk. And sometimes, cock enters the conversation so I wanna know what yours can do."

"I'm not going to fuck my sister."

"Eww, I didn't ask you to. Pervert. Just why three girls killed themselves after breaking up with you."

"Could be the fact that I date emotionally unstable bimbos."

"Yeah, but that isn't fun."

"Whatever you say Flannery. Whatever you fucking say."

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