From Chaos Comes Clarity
Eighteen more hours on this goddamn tour bus. Nick’s shirt already smelled like yesterday’s road kill.
He could barely see the other side of the bus. Light from the window illuminated the thick fog of reefer smoke, making everything dull but bright. He wanted to open it, take a gasp of clean, unadulterated oxygen, but his feet had sunk into the floor. Maybe Tim was lying there? Someone was drawing on his calves with permanent marker. Chad was lost in the cloud, laughing like a madman, and Peanut? He’d just have to fend for himself.
Jesus. No shorts in Jakarta.
200 / 15,000