With G

“Remember how we used to go to parties just so we could get there and leave. It’s like now we just go and don’t even realize we’re there. We never even really arrive anymore.”

Two dyed-red-headed girls talking to one another. Their conversation seemed extremely important from a distance.

"What’s his book about?"
“I don’t know. Raging. Fucked up shit. This girl once licked coke over his dick. She was fucked up. He was like, “Dude, that chick was OUT OF CONTROL. It was like, Come on, what are you doing? You’re totally out of control.”

Getting upset about being called teen wolf.
“People don’t realize that when they say stuff like that they in danger of getting they THROAT CUT!”

Laughing painfully:
“To answer your question J, yes, I’ve been drinking. I’ve been drinking, J. I’m drunk.”

Complaining about how this guy, the AP of the L, is pumped about being who he is. The whatever kind of irony that’s implied in wearing a tweed jacket and scuffed brown wingtips and a yellow tie. To encompass the entire thing: Why? Why the effort? The intent is partly to make you aware that he knows, maybe, publishing a magazine is a strangely ersatz thing to do, old-fashioned, uncool in comparison to the music and filmmaking and art-making folks that surround one in NY and are more relevant and popular. Also the frustrating Warhol idea (a working class boy) that "there's nothing more bourgeois than being afraid to look bourgeois." Actually, there probably are more bourgeois things than that, I just don't have the time to figure out what they are.

G in the voice saying I’ve ruined him. Or that the night he before he’d had sex with H and “It was sensual. She touched my balls. Sensuously.”

Heather suddenly appears, after the guy’s throat has been cut, and says, shaking her head, “You shouldn’t of said that. He’ll cut ya throat.”

He drew a speech bubble: It’s stinky chocolate. [Laughter] It was commonly acknowledged that he was gifted.

Bloody Social: G leaps at the mention of the band.
“What’s he like? The lead singer?”
“He’s like, [pursing lips] ‘We should hang out.’”
“Oh yeah?”
“He stands there in the studio looking at the rest of the band as they play and occasionally going, ‘Yeah, nice mate.’ He's the lamest guy ever."
"Ha ha, nice!"

Imitation of lead singer complaining about their popularity among fat girls from the mid-West. “Mates, we seem to be despised everywhere except for bloody Kansas. We’ve got to take some kind of redemptive bloody action.”

Pictures of girls bending down on stage to plug in a guitar pedal.