A Father and A Fix-ture

The eight o'clock wake up call rang. Alan answered the call, as he usually would,but only woke up when he realized the stupidity in saying "Hello." The call was literally a wake up call and of course he was in a hotel. She was in the shower by the time he had the receiver down and had realized she left the two hundred on the nightstand. "Fuck yeah, I'm out of here," Alan thought outloud. He wanted to say good-bye, but had no idea why nor how to go about it. The whole thing was weird and he was pretty sure she didn't want to deal with the weirdness either.
Out the door, up the street, and on to SMARTA Alan went with a determination. She'd given him a ride the night before and the two hundred dollars were more than enough to get him home now. Alan's day began not very interestingly, but unusually. The feeling was the same, sore, but that was from satisfaction and not the usual violation.
Alan walked into 116 at Washington Heights and took a shower. He felt blank, clean, and tired. At nine thirty in the morning the day was grinding on and Alan was grinding his teeth as he tried to nap. He tried to sleep and had a little success until he could no longer stand laying down. He checked his messages not knowing what else to do and found one unheard message. He listened and he heard his dad. Alan called his dad back.
Alan Douglas' dad was better known as Morphine Jack. He was a sleazy motherfucker. Having knocked up Alan's mother when she was a teenager and when he was in a low-rider gang, Morphine Jack had been out and then all of the sudden in Alan's life. Alan's mother cleaned up after her encounter with Jack and she married a working-man. Alan thought his stepfather was a crazy pigfucker on a Ku Klux Klan level of insanity. He really was a violent and demented prick with no sympathy, humility, or boundaries. He'd sent Alan to the Napa Youth Authority when he caught Alan on acid and Alan didn't come back. Morphine Jack had gotten to Alan. In fact, he'd ripped Alan off on a heroin deal within an hour of meeting him. Jack taught Alan about petty crime and how to get heroin. Now they were going to spend some quality father-son time together.
"Hello"
"Hey dad, I got your message."
"Yeah, you wanna come down."
"I'll be on my way in five minutes and I've got everything."
"Allright, see you soon."
"See ya." Alan hung up, grabbed the syringes, took the money, and dashed toward room 115.
Alan left room 115 ready to meet his father and to forget the previous day when he saw Lola. She was going somewhere, but that Alan didn't notice where. Probably her room or a glamorous day dream. Alan did notice her delightful disposition. Lola got excited about everything and he felt that excitement whenever he saw her. Lola had superpowers as far as Alan was concerned. How else could Alan explain her innocent delight in every small detail. Her kryptonite though was the seeming stupidity in such unconditional excitement and more often than not joy. She couldn't be any stupider than he was, though. Alan wanted that excitement and wished Lola would give it to him.
He would've made that wish, but he had to go back to the hotel. He was meeting his dad now. He would drive himself down and plunge into the hotel out of the rain that dripped from the sky. The raindrops like drops from the needle that would run through the water cycle in the earths delicate, vast veins. He would meet Morphine Jack and find his own excitement lost as poison in the blood-raindrops in the sewers.