Satyrs

Every day had begun to be the same for Charles. He liked to sit around, go to the ATM, sit down to leisurely meals, walk around the city with his headphones on, bob his head, do incredibly mild interpretive dance, and he always told himself that everyday he had to do something completely new, but most of the time he failed in that aspect. He spent money as if it were nothing, as if he realized that occupations were a sham. He’d go home, and he’d do whatever he had lying around, until he needed to restock his supplies. He had graduated from college, and he had done nothing but this same string of activities since. He never had to worry about anything except respectability. He got around the fact by reminding himself that he was special, and that if anybody knew his story, they wouldn’t judge him.
Spencer and Missy came out of Spencer’s bedroom. Charles was sitting on their balcony again, a hookah hose in his right hand.
“Did you put anything besides tobacco in that?” Spencer asked.
“Opium.”
“I need some varied dreams,” he said as he took the hose. He pulled on it, offered it to Missy, and was declined.
“So it was just a break then? You’re going to keep this up anyways?” Missy said.
“No, I think I’m just going to quit weed. It’s so predictable all the time.”
“Move on to harder stuff?” Charles inquired
“Well, I don’t know how much harder I can go.” Spencer answered.
“There’s always heroin.” Charles realized.
“Yeah, that’s always going to be hanging in the background.” Missy said sarcastically.
“I think Charles is the real candidate for heroin here.” Spencer said, patting him on the back in camaraderie.
“Oh, and you’re significantly more active than me.” Charles said.
“Uppers are the harder stuff I’ve got to go towards. Maybe when I’m sixty I’ll be inactive.” Spencer concluded.
“Well, when I’m sixty, I hope to have grandchildren.” Missy said purposefully.
“Do you think drugs sterilize people?” Charles asked suddenly interested.
“Your sperm count’s gone, dude.” Spencer said.
“I don’t know anything about that,” Missy said, “But you sure lose your ability to socialize regularly. Even if you think you don’t.”
“So, sterilization isn’t necessarily purely chemical is what you’re saying,” Charles answered, “It’s like a social motivation. I’m not going to talk to anybody if I use heroin, or something, thus losing my ability to meet anybody, thus losing my ability to procreate, thus losing my ability for progeny, thus killing off my family name.”
“I guess, if you want to take it that far.” Missy said.
“Amazing.” Charles said.
“Socializing is incredibly important, dude. That’s why I have to switch to uppers.” Spencer said.
“You’re so logical, Spencer.” Missy said.
“Well, whatever you guys are going to do, fine, you know, I don’t care. I’m not changing for anyone. I’m pretty happy, all things considered. I mean, I have to remind myself to be happy, but I’m pretty happy.”
“How’s your grandma? You haven’t talked about her in a while.” Spencer asked.
“She’s 90 now. I should go see her tomorrow. It’s just like I have to get so high before I see her because she’s so goddamn tiresome.”
“That’s really sensitive of you.” Spencer said.
“I know, right! No matter how much she tries to stay with the times, just listening to her talk, it’s like this old-world thing that’s just completely wrong! I mean, do you know what it was like in 1942? Do you?”
“Probably pretty fucked up.” Spencer said.
“Yeah! And she was our age then!”
“She’s American?” Missy asked.
“Of course. If she were an immigrant at least there would be intrigue.”
“America in 1942 is fucked up. But not intriguing?” Missy asked.
“I don’t really think America is very surprising to me.” Charles said.
“America sucks.” Spencer said.
“America can go fuck itself.” Charles said.
“Don’t you feel like you’re lucky to live here though?” Missy said. “Of all the places you could live, this is probably the best place to end up. I mean, would you really want to be English?”
“Dude the English rule!” Spencer said.
“Yeah, at least if we were English we’d have something real to complain about.”
“There’s a lot you can complain about in America.” Missy said.
“Yeah, but everyone else already complains about it. You complain about something nobody else complains about, BOOM, you’re crazy!” Charles said.
“I mean, were you there at 9-11?” Spencer asked Missy.
“I was at 7-11!” Charles said.
“Fuck 9-11” Spencer interrupted. “Fuck everything about it. It’s the worst thing to happen to this country ever, and for all the wrong reasons, even though everybody wants to make it about all the right reasons.”
“You can’t say anything about it without being offensive!” Charles added.
“You guys are so insensitive! One of our family friends died that day. It was horrible, horrible.”
“Everybody knows somebody who died that day. Except me!” Charles said.
“Yeah, a second cousin of mine or something died in it.” Spencer said.
“Were you there?” Missy asked him.
“I was in Washington. Does that count?” Spencer said.
“Sure! That was so fucked up!” Charles said. “Washington was way more fucked up than New York if you think about it!”
“Why were you in Washington? I thought you were at college then, you didn’t go to school there.” Missy said.
“I was protesting in front of the fucking White House!” Spencer said.
“About what, again?” Charles asked, laughing.
“The administration!”
“And why would you want to protest the administration? We voted them in!” Charles encouraged.
“You’re a fool. You know I voted Green.” Spencer said.
“Oh yes,” Missy said, “You would vote Green.”
“They made us leave.” Spencer said.
“What?”
“We had to leave from the front gate. There were rumors. Everybody left.”
“Nobody stayed and was like ‘I’m going down with this country too!’“ Charles said.
“None of them were proud Americans, think about it.” Spencer said.
“You guys are fucked up,” Missy said, “You don’t have to say you’re proud you know.”
“Everybody else does.” Charles said.
“They have bumper stickers saying it for God’s sake!” Spencer said.
“Well some people like to make their opinions known.” Missy said.
“And some opinions just shouldn’t be known.” Charles said.