12PM
Saturday afternoon.
The humidity clung like a second skin of bad decisions. Lacian "Yanny" Selativ pried one eye open, the other still sealed shut by crusted mucus.
Then, like a foghorn of doom:
"YANNY! BLAZING TIME!!"
Bryll's voice could resurrect corpses just to annoy them.
Yan groaned, peeling himself off the mattress like a half-dried sticker.
"Damn it, man. It's too early."
Bryll grinned—the kind of smile that made you check your pockets after.
"Exactly why it's called 'Morning Glory.' Plus—"
He ripped open the curtains. Sunlight, the ultimate war crime.
"—it's already noon!"
Yan recoiled like a vampire at a beach party. "Alright, I'll just fix—"
"I'll wait in the back,"
Bryll said, already halfway out the door. Then he paused, doubling back with a smile that screamed 'free loader'.
"Make me a cup too... hehe."
Yan zombie-walked to the sink. The tap water smelled like regret and government neglect.
The kitchen was a warzone of unwashed mugs. He grabbed the least offensive one (a relic from the Hitler's era) and scrubbed like a man bargaining with God.
"Shit. Fuck this house." he muttered.
Nescafe Stick hissed into the cup—black as his karma, bitter as her goodbye.
Yan stepped outside and nearly faceplanted into John, a walking OSHA violation with a resting "I'll end you" face.
"Got a cig?" Yan asked.
John's stare said: "Do I look like 7/11?"
Yan slapped 50 bucks into his palm. "Grab half a pack, then head at the back."
John grunted (translation: "Fuck you, but I need this.") and vanished.
Bryll lurked in the roofless abandoned house behind Yan's place, a stray cat judging him from the wooden beams above like, "This guy? Really?"
"Wow! Cheers!" Bryll cradled the coffee like it was liquid gold. In exchange, he passed Yan the ipes[1], a cig foil makeshift pipe, so crusty it could've been dug up by archaeologists.
Yan lit up. "You're on leave?"
Bryll sighed like a man who'd memorized the textbook but failed the vibe check.
"Woke up late. I was wrecked last night. Stayed at Doppy's to study."
Yan nodded. "Good." (Translation: "Bullshit.")
Ash flicked. "How's business?"
Bryll's grin returned.
"We sold everything you sent. Four confirmed. Three free drops. Burned the rest."
Yan exhaled smoke. "Double next week. Time to fatten up our wallets."
They both knew the odds. But hope, like the za, was a habit they couldn't quit.
A cockroach dragged a cigarette butt toward the shadows....then the door exploded open.
John stood there, two Sprite bottles sweating in his grip, a half-crushed pack of cheap smuggled cigs from the store tucked under his arm.
"Damn, I thought it was someone else." Yan nearly had a heart attack.
John ignored him, lobbed a soda at Bryll. The coins he tossed scattered like spent shell casings.
Bryll caught it, grinning. "Oh, appreciate that—"
"Someone's looking for you," John cut in, blocking the doorway looking at Yan, voice flat.
"Downstairs."
Yan glanced up. John's knuckles were bone-white around the soda bag.
"Who?"
John took his time.
A sip.
A drag.
The cat on the beams stopped licking its paws.
"Find out for yourself."
Ash fell from Yan's ipes.
Bryll's bottle hovered at his lips.
Yan exhaled smoke. "Tell him to come up here."
John jerked his chin, a silent 'come here'.
Footsteps shook the wooden stair—then silence.
A silhouette filled the doorway, backlit by the sun, one hand tucked in his jacket like he was reaching for something.
Bryll froze mid-sip. John's fingers drifted toward his waistband. Yan just squinted through the haze.
Then—
"Yanny!"
Frix stumbled in, grinning like a kid who'd loot a wallet. "Fuckin' hell, I thought you guys weren't here!"
John cursed under his breath. Bryll over-laughed, relief sour in his throat.
Yan flicked ash. "You blowing clouds today?"
Frix giggled. "Gotta pass on that, brother!"
Yan handed the ipes to Bryll for a refill.
"Your turn." Bryll grinned while passing the ipes.
Frix took it, puffed like a broken exhaust pipe, then slammed a soggy Manila envelope filled with zip locks onto the table.
Everyone stared.
Frix lit a cig, suddenly serious.
"Fifty grams. Came from Maria."
"Shit... how'd you get this?" Bryll's eye widened.
Frix exhaled smoke. "Quality Kush. Looted it from under the bridge."
Yan stole a glance at John, who looked ready to bolt.
"We saw Maria's horse stash it yesterday... so we took it." Frix was proud. Blowing the smoke through dusts in the air.
No one moved.
Bryll's voice quivered with greed. "Fatty stack!"
"You idiots better return that!" John hissed.
Frix shifted on his feet, eyes darting to Yan.
"Yanny... don't. This is gonna get messy," John warned.
Yan locked onto Frix. "Who were you with?"
"Ken."
Bryll clutched the envelope like a lifeline. "It's money, John! You really wanna let this go?"
John stepped closer, voice low. "You're better than this, Yanny. We need cash, not enemies."
Yan said nothing. He's aware Maria Abunda is not to be messed with. But still.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" John snapped.
"We don't bite what we can't chew, Lacian." John spat—then left.
Silence filled the room.
Bryll pinched a bit from a zip, smirked. "I'm out. Got work."
Yan still can't be moved.
Frix scratched his neck. "I passed by Aspad." breaking the silence.
Yan finally moved and reached out for his cig.
"Some dude there said he knows you?"
Yan's thumb paused on the lighter. "Who?"
"Forgot his name... maybe 'Kitty' or something." giggles shyly.
The lighter never sparked, The air was already heavy enough.
[1] (/ayps/)