“I used to be overmedicated, lithium, Wellbutrin, benzo’s up the wazoo,” drawls Gigantor as he lolls back in the well-worn hammock. “But I dropped all that. I find that staying
wasted on Durban poison and Cuervo-and-
fresh-squeezed-lime margaritas fixes me up
fine with fewer side effects. The joys of overselfmedication.”
When Charles arrived to pick Shi’diqua up for the gig, he found the lass indacouch as always. “You’re so overmedicated,” Charles said condescendingly.
“
Baby,” Shi’diqua murmured, wishing Charles would get dopesick for once. He had gone so
vanilla since Wesleyan. “Just overselfmedication. Can I fix you a dirty martini—or two—before we launch outta here? There’s time for a toot, too. I just cleaned a quarter.”