Twip Bubbleh

The sky rained itself demented outside, while he sat on his thinkpad - thinking. Directing his thoughts not towards what he was being paid for, but towards an escape. An escape from this trap that he had only recently realized he was in. “Fucking masochistic - this life, I tell you!” he thought to himself.

He was only a few minutes into his thought-pool, when his buds called out to him from across the white hallway. “Fucker! Wanna come out for a smoke?” As they both synchronized a peculiar hand gesture. A gesture, that would attract eager smiles from the like aged. A gesture, that involved rolling an imaginary sheet of paper between one’s index finger and the thumb.

Pat didn’t think twice before he switched his monitor off. (Something he intentionally did while leaving his desk. He did his bit towards environment protection). He nudged his chair back a couple of feet with his ass and paced out with the two of them.

The trio walked across the patio, to their car, parked barely 15 seconds away. 15 seconds in that downpour though, served enough to drench them to the skin. They jumped into their champagne coloured hatchback and slammed the doors behind them. They looked at each other in childish excitement, while the rain their hair had collected, flowed off their noses. Drop by ticklish drop.

After a moment of uncanny silence, Mark barked, “You wanna roll or what man?!” This exclamation of his attracted a frown from the other two, as they almost harmonically choired, “You have the stuff, don’t you?” The two gave each other a split second stare that screamed “WTF!”

They consciously chose not to voice the WTF. For they thought pointing out their lately common vocal synchronies would be rendered a corny observation by the other. With the massive egos they had, being assumed corny would be a disaster. But by the time Mark remembered that he did have some stuff on him and rolled it onto the dash, the moment had passed anyway.

So Mark prepared their appetizer as Pat drove. Rather inched! See, there was a massive snarl right outside their office complex because of the rain. Typical of Delhi traffic. A centimeter of rain; and there you have ‘em. Roads choked like a whores on dicks.

But our three motherfuck’eteers were anything but bothered. They were out to tap some bong. Not bong as in bangla-bong. But otherwise. Only they had no bongs to tap. Bangla AND otherwise. This though, was hardly an issue for them. For they smoked the DU way - Just lace your 5 buck cancer stick with some hashish grains. And presto.

So they smoked.

Mark got stoned in the first drag

Pat, after a couple of puffs, was as happy as a goat grazing on Swiss meadows.

And D assumed her usual “I’m so cool. I don’t get high on anything” character.

Only; she could never hold this facade for longer than 5 minutes. Wonder why she even tried. Her antics, after she got high always gave it away. Antics that she never even realized that she was at! Like this time, she gazed out the rain dotted windscreen, with her mouth wide open, flicking the buttons on the car stereo’s remote. Almost as if, she was expecting the channel to change.

Their nice little trip bubble popped as D’s phone buzzed into this obnoxiously nasty ring tone. The fucking rot of an agency had managed to scuttle in here as well. Mark had been absconding from his desk for all this while. Which is what triggered the commotion at office. His incompetent boss found himself lost in the chaos at work and had decided to pull his lifeboat in. The three were all, but too used to shit coming their way when they least expected it. So they didn’t really get cranky when this happened to happen.

What Pat didn’t realize though, was that he’d just managed to escape the trap he’d been stressing about some 30 minutes back.