What's a Sugar Trip

"Hey, Goddaddy.
C'mover here for a sec." The gentleman standing in the corner of the
parlor took a breath in from his pen, huffing it out after a moment.

"God*father*, or
my name. You should know this by now." He walked over to meet the man in
the corner, waving some of the smoke aside. "Now what did you want? You
know I hate all this damn smoke you spout everywhere."

"You hate it 'til it
gives you a paycheck." He laughed nonchalantly, taking another puff and
blowing it upwards.

"I'll ask again then,
what do you want?"

"You seem really
stressed lately, man." He held out a small bag. "I know you don't
like the hole smoke thing, so I thought you might enjoy a different type of..
yeah." He chuckled again, dropping it into the Godfather's hands.

"..And what is
this?"

"Nothin' too bad,
just.. y'know, a bit of sniffing sugar."

"Sniffing
sugar."

"Yeah, dude."

"Uh-huh. Right, well
I'll think about it." He stuffed the bag into his suit pocket and turned
around. "And don't call me Goddaddy."

"You got it,
Demmie-poo."

"That's even worse,
don't say that either."

"You're no fun,
man."

"Now whose fault is
that? You just had a simple instruction and decided to not follow it."

"Just go chill out
with it, man."

The Godfather glared back
and stepped up into his office, shutting the door behind him. After a moment he
slowly locked it and sat down behind his desk, tossing the bag in front of him
and staring at it for a moment.

*Hmm.. I suppose it*
might be worth a shot. I doubt he'd try and get me killed, anyway. I've made
him more money than he would've ever seen in his lifetime, and the poor sap's
too addicted to his own crap to save any of it if this whole thing collapsed.

He slid open the bag's top
and poured it along the desk, inspecting it for a moment. After satisfying
himself with its looks, he pushed it into a pile and took a large inhale of the
powder.

He pulled his head back
up, mouth agape and pupils heavily dilated as the world around him began to
shift and swirl. He blinked twice before slowly standing up, pushing in his
chair and stepping back to the wall to watch.

The walls turned from
their wood and bits of color to vibrant patterns, dancing along and strutting
along his field of view as he stood back and gazed on in pure wonder. He
glanced down, noticing the floors almost looking as if they began to bounce up
and down; he began to feel the constant movement in his gut, taking another
step to regain his bearings. The walls slowed down, maintaining their vibrance,
though now still, as well as the flooring. He breathed out a sigh of relief and
blinked, looking around at an entirely new point of view.

The walls began to crack
and slip apart at their seams, leaving nothing but a bright white blankness
behind them, the same happening to the floor, pulling away from beneath him and
in front of him. His breathing quickened as he jumped for the door, jiggling
the knob, only for the walls to cover the doors themself; he had no way out. He
blinked again in his panic, as his surroundings returned to the vibrance and
semi-happiness of before.

Sounds of jaunty string
instruments began to fill his ears, the walls once again moving. They kept a
slow pace, enough to put him at ease as he looked on with a low, wide grin
forming across over his mouth. He slowly nodded his head to the now-forming
music, building itself from simply occasional strings into something even a
sober person may enjoy, closing his eyes and keeping his head in rhythm.

He opened them again, the
walls and floorboards flaying upwards and down, as if ripped back and forth by
wind, leaving gaping holes around him. His breathing once again peaked,
terrified by the thoughts of what lay past the white void past the neat
confinements of his humble room. He shut his eyes again, opening once again to
the semi-calming music and bright colors.

He stood up, the music
picking up its pace as he began to strut around the room, slowly flowing into a
haphazard half-dance, attempting to flow with the once-again surrounding music.

After what had felt like
just under a minute, the music and walls began to slow, fading from their color
as the Godfather slowly felt off balance; the music slowly gaining a muffle
until it died away from his ears. He rubbed his eyes, realizing once again he
was back in his office. He tried for the door, realizing it was locked. He had
never left, he never went anywhere; that was all part of-

He looked back at his
desk, enough of the bag for another run at what he had just experienced. He
stared for a few moments, shoving the rest into the bag once again and tossing
it into a desk drawer.

*Maybe later.* He
thought, still reeling from what had just taken place; or more specifically
what hadn't.

He unlocked his office and
stepped outside, seeing the same gentleman back in the corner.

"Have a good time?
You were in there for about eight hours."

"Eight- it felt like
ten minutes at most."

"Yeah, that'll
happen."

The Godfather looked down,
dumbfounded as to what had just taken place.

"I know you got
enough left for another hit. I won't tell anyone, don't worry. I ain't a narc.
Then again, pretty sure no one here's a narc, otherwise we'd be behind bars or
something."

"Yeah.. right."
The Godfather stepped back into his office and sat down on his small bed,
eyeing the drawer once more.