CAPE COD, MA -- Ricky Floss found never thought that he would do cocaine, let alone in the women’s restroom of a truck stop three hours from his home with one of his coworkers. And yet, here he was, trying to level out for their shift in two hours and before the car that they stole to get back was called in. The reason for his being in a truck stop bathroom was hazy to Ricky, mostly because of the MDMA and Everclear, but the need to get to work on time was crystal clear.

	“Seriously, I never did anything like this in college,” Ricky told Ramond Carter, a fellow line cook and literal partner in crime. “Did we go to that male strip club, or did I dream that?”

	“Both,” Raymond, setting up another line on the diaper changing station, responded. “We went and you fell asleep, but it’s cool, I still paid for your lap dance.”

	As they swerved and veered down the highway, smoke from the dabs they were hitting poured out the window. After a quick stop at Raymond’s Adderall guy’s place, they were ready for work. 

	“No, it’s called a dakimakura,” Mr. Floss said as they pulled up, “and it’s just for companionship.”

	“Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Dick Floss,” Ray stated. “You gonna be alright? If our ticket times go over twenty minutes, I’m never taking you out again.”

	“Oh, yeah, I can be cool,” he said, opening the passenger door. “Thanks for the greatest night of my life.”

	“Dude, it’s Tuesday. You think that was nuts, just wait until the weekend. You gotta stop talking about your fuck pillow though, man. Unless you plan on being celibate your whole life.”
      
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