Behind the Clouds

Rob had just completed his masters degree in psychology at Rutgers University in Jersey, and he was damn good at it. Recreational drug and alcohol use were not something that he and Steve had in common, but Rob knew not to judge his friends and Steve and Rob both knew and loved automobiles. They also had the same taste in women. Long, lean, loose and clean if you know what I mean. As they came onto the BQE from the belt parkway, Steve lit up a pre-rolled joint, and Rob rolled down the window so he would not be bothered by the smoke. This was a ritual they had shared a thousand times before. Traffic was relatively light, the moon was full, though one could only catch brief glimpses of it, as heavy clouds shrouded it in a passing veil of foreboding ominous doom.
Steve put the roach in the ashtray in the Camaro as traffic started to get heavy heading into the Brooklyn-Battery tunnel. After about a minute after entering the tunnel, Steve started to think about all the tons of water of the Hudson above their heads. "What would happen if we got trapped in here?" Steve said. Perhaps we would be squashed like water bugs, or in another scenario be trapped like rats until we starved to death, suffocate or maybe even drown slowly." We would be dead" Rob said plainly. "I wonder if the guy at the toll booth knew I had smoked. Did I look fucked up? Did I get weird?" "No", Rob replied rationally. "We had the windows down for miles so he could not smell it, and your eyes are not red." Steve was not one of those people who got blazing bloodshot eyes like Christopher Lee as Dracula, when he smoked pot or drank. He would get paranoid as hell though, and the the more intoxicated he became, the further and deeper his paranoia would get. Rob would always be able to keep him in check though, as he knew exactly what to say and what not to say to keep his friend from going off the deep end. However, being in the tunnel with the deafening hum of the vehicles resonating off the walls and ceiling did not help Steve uneasyness.
Just as Steve felt that he was being buried alive in a giant tomb, the Camaro roared out on the downtown Manhattan side. "Thank God" Steve said. "I thought we were going to be in there forever ." "Don't worry, it was not that long. You know how time perception slows down when you smoke dope" Rob said. They turned onto the Westside Highway headed towards the lower west side . It was now 9:20 p.m. "What time are we supposed to meet them?" Rob asked. "I told them around 9:30" Steve responded flatly. Steve and Rob were not glamorous people, and neither were their friends. They all just wore clothes that were comfortable, ate things that were easy to cook and assumed only about three positions when they fucked, with the absence of hours of foreplay. This is how they lived and they enjoyed it. Headed towards the west village and almost there, Steve finished up the roach that was in his ashtray to keep his buzz going. Driving around Macdougal and Bleeker streets Steve finally found a spot right by Washington Square Park, which was miraculous considering it was 10:00 p.m on a Friday night.