With about twenty seconds to go, the bindle started vibrating.
First there was a crackle, then the bindle started hopping like a popcorn kernel. Ted shut it off quickly.
"Fuck!" he yelled.
Sully opened the door and yelped when he tried to grab the smoking envelope. After letting it cool a moment he grabbed it tentatively and began to open it up on top of the microwave. We all had barrel-sized knots in our gut and the sun meant business, rising with authority ... it was half past six in the morning.
He folded the origami-like bindle open, I could see his fingers shaking. The coke was fried into the bindle, burnt yellow, crisp and hard like overcooked butter. No one said a word or even breathed.
The blow was lost. We had nothing now, not even something to gobble. We were fucked.
I walked back into the room, my teeth still grinding, my head thick as a brick. Sully and Ted followed. Ted offered to get some beer but we didn't answer. I laid against the wall and peered through the crack in the curtains. Dread set in. I would probably get some sleep later this evening, but existing between now and then, in the full light of day, would be hell. I'd have to act like I was fine, like I had a full nights sleep and go through all the fucking moves of a normal person. Sully would probably call around 9pm to tell me about some cool party and the whole thing would start over again.
Through the crack in the curtain I watched a jogger pass by, sweating lightly but keeping a good pace. He moved gracefully like a seasoned runner. I started thinking about how I used to run the riverbed trail early in the morning not so long ago. I ran five and ten kilometer races on the weekends and once completed a 10k with a six-minute-mile pace. I felt good then, strong and intense. I used to love to run.
The runner started to move out of the small window of vision I had from the crack in the curtains. Right before he turned to round the corner he held up his wrist and looked at his watch.
Checking his time.
How much time have you lost?