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Flunkies
“Oh
shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! Mikes dead, he’s got to be dead! Why? Shit what do I
do? Aw man Mike’s bleeding all over. Am I going to die here? Where’s the other
guy? What do I do? Calm down. Calm down! Oh no he’s turning this way. I’m going
to die here! I’m going to die! I’m going to die!”
9:00
A.M.
Beep.
Beep. Beep.
“Awwww,
uggg. Shut up”
I
say as I slam my alarm off. Damn it’s the first time I’ve been up at nine in
years. Anyway my names John, John Sullivan, and I’m a pretty normal kid. It’s
the summer after my senior year; I’m only about a month out from going to
college on a full ride academic scholarship, hell who would’ve thought a kid
like me would get an academic scholarship. Don’t get me wrong I’m kind of smart
but I was always slacking off, playing hooky, and sleeping in class.
Today
is starting off like any other, waking up to take a shower to was my dirty ass
hair out. I’m blonde, but after working in the mud yesterday you would have
never known by looking at me this morning. After I get out of the shower I’m supposed
to go meet all the boys for breakfast at waffle house. Normally we wouldn’t get
up this early but Mikes leaving for the Navy tomorrow so we have a full day
planned.
I
sit on the edge of the bed for a second before I make my way to the shower. I
collect my thoughts, let out a yawn, and try wake up a little. My rooms the
attic of our house, it’s not the best house in the world, but I’ve lived here
my whole life, and I like it. My dirty light brown room has posters of the Wu
Tang Clan, next to Albert Einstein, and a Bruce Lee poster, clothes scattered
about the floor along the way from my bed to the bathroom. I get up and start
walking that way.
I
turn my shower on and wait for the steam to rise up in small pools on the
mirror while I stare with a dead gaze into my own eyes half asleep, but awake
enough to wonder about the mysteries of the soul, and where I’ll go when I die.
The shower is ready so I slowly step in; I take my showers at a dangerously
high temperature, a shower can be a damn near religious experience in the right
state of mind. 90 percent of my shower time I spent half asleep half awake
collecting my thoughts like a staging area for my day.
9:13
am
I
glance at the clock on the stove as I walk down my stairs, they creek a little
bit, have since I was a kid. Dad says its part of our houses character, mom
always said it was something dad was to lazy to fix. I step into the kitchen to
see my dad sitting in his chair at the table, reading the paper as always.
My
dads a good man, he has a strong heart, and always meant to do the best. He was
an Irish immigrant and met my mom just 6 months after arriving in the states.
He has worked in a warehouse for as long as I can remember, he’s even the
manager now, probably the only one with out a college degree. He has become
rather “grizzled” lately, but he was always a hard ass. I hated him when I was
younger because he was such a dick, but now I can look back and see even though
he didn’t go about it the best way he taught me a lot, and because of him I am
a lot stronger a man than a lot of people, especially most the bitches in my
neighborhood.
“Where
you headed John?”
“To
waffle house pops, it’s all of us guys last day together so we have a big day
planned.”
I
grabbed a glass of water, and started to have a sip.
“Oh
that’s right Mike’s headed to the navy tomorrow isn’t he.”
“Yeah,
sure is.”
“That
boy sure doesn’t know what he’s got coming to him, hell maybe it’ll set him
right.”
“Yeah
you’re prolly right.”
“Well
do you need any money?”
Oh
shit, this is a fucking first, never in my whole life has my dad offered to
give me money.
“Nah,
I got some…Thanks though pops.”
“Ok,
you be careful, love you.”
“You
too”
I
step out the door, and head to my car. It’s a black 95 Pontiac Fire Bird, it’s not a V8 like I
always wanted, but it’s my pride and joy anyway. Everything on it is stock and
looks pretty new. Let me catch someone messing up my car. There are only a
couple little door dings and the interior is almost perfect except for a
cigarette burn from Justin. Needless to say he got his ass beat. I start my car
and listen to the sweet pur from the six cylinder engine, click it into gear
ever so slowly, and glide out of my drive way like I’m doing a moon walk. The
engine revs and I pull away.
9:32am
My
car clock reads. Shit late again, aw well better than I used to be. I pull into
the waffle house parking lot, and begin to look for the furthest away from the
door parking spot, even though I know some ass hole with an 81 Honda civic is
ganna park next to me. Which even though there’s almost never a door ding I try
to avoid, as if I’m prejudice against rust buckets. Lord knows I gatta prevent
the rust from leaping over to my car like a contagious dieses. God bless the
man that made armoural.
I
find my parking spot, pause for a second, and shake my head like I got bugs on
me. I step out of my car, one Nike air at a time, always sporting my white
nasties, like I’m paid to wear them or something.
“Hurry
the fuck up John, Shit!”
“Aw
man, Stephon shut the hell up before I smack that drunken ass grin off your
face.”
“haha,
bring it dawg. Man Justin is even later than you, prolly lost track of time
some where in the smoke.”
“Man
you know damn well, if your black ass wasn’t broke you’d be just as late as
him, sippin on some patron or what ever the fuck you drink now.”
“ha
Yeah you right, but can you blame me?”
“It’s
called AA Stephon, and your ass needs it…and Jesus.”
We
walk into the waffle house, in slow motion like were so cool the room my
freeze, of course everyone inside already knows us, knows were fresh out of
high school, and thinks were about as cool as this August day. We walk over to
our usual booth where Mike is waiting for us.
“Where’s
Justin?”
“Man
where you…”
The
door crashes open and Justin wobbles his stoned ass in, the only people in the
room that even look up is the 3 of us already in the booth. Were all together
now, Justin is the groups pot head, but he also is a musician. I’m not sure there’s
much a difference though, he is actually pretty good though, kinda funny
growing up we were always athlete’s, and we played on the same teams, our dads
actually played together in high school, then Justin discovered the herb, and I
was always more interested in the cheerleaders than how many touch downs I
could score. Justin’s about the same height as me, but weighs about 70 pounds
less so he looks like a white Dikembe Mutombo.
Stephon
is the black guy in the group, he’s cool as hell, and the predicaments he gets
into are funny as hell some times. He always ends up working for some scam
company trying to make fast cash or something and ends up signing me and mike
up for telemarketing or some shit. He’s pretty average height but a pretty
stout guy, and the real funny thing is even though he’s kinda buff he’s a big
puss, and couldn’t kick a 4 year old girls ass. He’s also the drunk of the
group, but I figure you already figured that out. He’s ghetto as hell, but the
truth is, he’s not gangsta at all. I always make fun of his aluminum bling.
Mikes…Mike,
I really don’t know the best way to explain him because there a lot of aspects
to him. Me and Mike are a lot like in to many ways. His dad is locked up and
his mom isn’t worth a damn. Mike always means well, some times he’s just
misguided. One thing is for sure, he is the scrapper in the group, always
getting in fights, and rarely loosing, but it gets him in trouble sometimes. He
dropped out our junior year and has been selling a little dope to get by since
then, but he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. It’s too bad he dropped out
he’s not dumb by any means and could’ve gone to college if he just toughed it
out, but he had a bit…well a lot of an authority problem. We’ve been friends since
junior high though and I’m closer to him than anyone.
Were
a gang. Not a gang like the crips, were just all boys. We have each others
backs, not that it really matters because no ones going to try and start a turf
war in the suburbs. We are just a group of friends, best friends. These guys
are my family, and I would do just about anything for anyone of them. I always
think of us like a firm, like the soccer hooligan gang in Green Street
Hooligans, but really there’s a lot more to it than that.
“Bout
time cracky.” Mike cracks at Justin
“aw
man you shoulda seen the shit my boy got me last night, so good I had to get it
again this morning.”
“Right
Cheech, well at least we’re all here, my ass has been craving some waffles.” I
exclaim.
“Man,
screw that white boy waffle stuff give me some grits.”
“Gee
Stephon glad you don’t fit any stereo types, buddy.” Mike riffs
“Yeah
I know, I got a big Johnson, what can I say, good genes.”
“Ha
man the only good jeans you got are those Evisu’s you stole from the Wax
Factory.”
We
all begin to laugh, as the moment sinks in. Our waitress comes and begins to
take our order. Usually a good fifteen minute process because of all the joke
cracking, but we do get through it, after hassling our waitress. We sit back
and begin to talk shit, for what might be the longest breakfast of our lives.
10:28am
The
old clock on the wall reads. Damn I’m stuffed. That might have been the biggest
breakfast of my life; at least I didn’t get half of it on my shirt like Justin
got on his tattered hoodie.
“Damn
Justin is that a hoodie or some art work man.”
“Yeah
man who won you or the gravy dawg”
“keep
hatin, you know I whooped the biscuits ass, the gravy just got some cheap shots
in.”
“ha
man cheap shots my ass, that gravy hit you like fifty cent…S’cuz me waitress we
ganna need an ambalance for my friend he got his ass beat by some gravy, looked
like Mike Tyson fightin an infant.”
“Man
Mike you didn’t have to take it that far.” Justin laughs
“Yeah
you right, the gravy did leave you your ears, looked more like a Chuck Liddel
Job.” I burned.
We
all laugh, while waiting for our checks, knowing that Stephon is going to
bother the waitress saying his check is wrong or put a fly in his food or
something.
“So
what’s next guys?” I ask
“Well
when Steph gets this ghetto thing finished with the waitress we can head over
to the mall.”
“Man
bro, like you know it’s going to be like only high school girls there anyway
man.”
“Justin
S.T.F.U. we just got out of school anyway, not like we’ve changed in a month.
Besides, we got a college boy with us, it’ll be like taking candy from a baby.”
“What
can I say I’m kind of a big deal, my dorm smells of rich mahogany…I wanna be on
you.” I joke.
“Yeah
man, aw well, it’ll be fun anyway.”
“Ya’ll
ready to bounce; I got the whole meal compt.”
“Haha
yo broke ass is always coming through for us. Yeah lets bounce I got shotty.”
“Justin
you better not bring no cigarettes in my car this time.”
We
head out the door and start to pile in my car, which happens to be a real tight
fit. Mike gets shotgun as always, with little debate on the issue. Justin and
Stephon are packed in the back like sardines. I start the car, and pause for a
second kinda spacing out, probably because I got like 4 hours of sleep.
“Yo
John I know these may come as a shock to you, but uh the car can move.”
“Shut
up Mike. I’m going.”
“Damn
bro your messin up my fung shway back here, scoot up Mike, and roll the window
down too its hot in here.”
“Man
you can’t have your cake and eat it too, either I scoot up or the window stays
down, pick your poison, shit, greedy ass.” Mike chops
“Man
the world is only is peaceful when we have some equality dawg.” Stephon says.
Stephon
has a tendancy to drop random bits of knowledge on our head from time to time. He’s
also a huge Pulp Fiction fan, and told us “Julez said, “It’s what alcoholics
refer to as a moment of clarity.”
“Steph,
I’m not sure what the hell you’re talking about, but it sounds good, so you
should prolly quit talking before you fuck it up. I say as I begin to pull out.
I put on our cruising song, “Just Bought a Cadillac” by Rich Boy. We
immediately begin to go nuts Mikes hangin out the window sing in shit, hell
even Justin’s emo ass is in the back rappin’ like he’s from the hood. We begin
to make our way to the mall.
11:16
am
The
corner of some cheap laptop reads in Arthur’s Computer store. We always go
through Arthur’s because it keeps us from having to go through the kiddy park
when we enter the mall. Arthur might be god’s perfect embodiment of a nerd, the
dude’s glasses alone are a good inch think, and the pocket protector he wears
with his wide arrangement of plaid buttons up really suits him too.
“Yo
Arthur, What up dawg, how’s the main frame, you online in shit?” Stephon's
technologically illiterate ass yells at Arthur.
“Well hey there buddy, :sniff: well
I’ve connected to all the right ports on my wireless and with my new megabit
RAM….”
“Aye
Arthur, we don’t know what you’re talking about, and more importantly, don’t
care, but it’s good to see your lookin pimpin.” I say to Arthur
“Well
hopefully this is the week guys; I’ve been working out, the ladies are sure to
notice me this week.”
“Yeah
man you keep pumpin up, you’ll get you some booty.” Mike says.
“We’ll
see ya around bro.” Justin says as we stroll out.
We
begin to take our normal stroll about the mall, browsing and not buying at
almost every store, and talking to every half decent girl we see, proceeding to
make fun of her after turning us down. After a couple hours though we decide
it’s time to go, since the fish just aren’t biting. We head to my car and begin
to make our way to Justin’s house.
3:21pm
I
read off of my cell phone as we pull up to Justin’s mom’s house, our typical
crash pad. The house is your average suburban home, prolly about 12 years old,
white, no real trees unless you call that twig a tree. It’s pretty clean, good
place for a single mom, and her kids. We make our way through the house while
in a half-asleep haze; I think we should have decided to meet later than 9:30. We
fill down into Justin’s room, which is the basement, kind of a perfect lair for
a pot head musician. His room is furnished mostly with instruments that need
toning and cheap furniture he has acquired with time. There is a slight musk of
Fabreeze which attempts to cover a think layer of smoke enthralled grime. We
lay about the room talking for a while an reminiscing about old times, before
we all fall asleep.
7:26
p.m.
“Damn,
look at the time. Yo Justin get up.” I say as I come out of a yawn. After about
fifteen minutes of silence we begin to collect our selves, there’s always that
period of time after waking up where talking is off limits.
“Ya’ll
want some patron?”
“Hell
yeah.”
“Dude
bro where’d you get that anyway?”
“I
swiped it from the liquor store while were in the bathroom at the mall.”
“Like
I said this morning, your thievin ass needs Jesus, but pass me the bottle
anyway.”
“So
where’s the party at tonight?” I ask
“I
heard Stevie J was havin a keg dawg, we gatta hit that up.”
“Then
let’s do it, I’m ganna run home and change, You guys wanna meet up in an hour?”
“Yeah
bro, sounds good.”
its not done. but i like it so far
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