Eating the worm (part III)

I arrived at The Vault to find Steph deep in thought, and a pint of larger. He looked up as I walked through the door, his expression not changing until I was a couple of metres away from him.
"Alright man?"
I slid into the booth, taking the seat opposite him, before launching into this energetic rant about museums being the funeral homes of culture and art, to which he whole heartedly agreed.
"yeah, but, the bodies are on display for everybody to see."
"Yeah!"
"Man, people are morbid..."

Even though we knew our conclusions had been reached by other, probably more brilliant people long ago, written down in literature and released into the wild world (only to be inprisoned and turned to dust) whenever me and Steph were together, talking our big ideas and observations into existence, we always felt like pioneers on the edge of something big. When either one of us read something we'd said to each other in the past we'd stick the authors name in The List, the people who knew the score, and just carried on in our usual way. No point in letting something silly like reality harsh our buzz.
Steph suddenly interrupted my speel.
"How much money you got?"
"About £25."
"I got £15."
We then went about deciding how this money should be spent. I said we should get a twenty bag of skunk and some wine. He favoured base and beer. In the end we compromised, deciding on a ten bag, some base, and beer. The up/down/sideways combination seemed like the way to go.

So many substances, so little time.

[To Be Continued]