I am alive, just school stuff, chores...
Anyway, enjoy. Feedback please!
Oh yeah, some of the new characters are... uuuuh... you decide, but mildly put, they’re offensive. They will be reoccurring, and around more than “Texas” had been.
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TUESDAY (? POV)
6.03am, N.Y.C., N.Y.
I am sitting in my car stopped at the curb. Cars pass on the street, people on the left. I observe a bike courier and entertain the thought of flinging my door open just to see him smack into it.
On the sidewalk I see the tourists taking photos of themselves and each other in front of The Flat Iron Building.
Stupid chink bimbos, dressing like hussies in their newly purchased “I Love N.Y.” tee shirts and skimpy skirts. Easy on the eyes, I admit, but I just don’t get why being a tourist brings out the dumb in people.
Then again, I am watching my contact, just a yard or two behind those same Chines girls, getting arrested by the cops.
He looks on at me with a look that says help me, but honestly it is his own damn fault. He fucked the wrong girl, the wrong way, now he is going to pay.
What I fins really surreal about the whole thing, is the fact that people unconsciously part and move around the scene then come together. Like a herd of wildebeests moving around a large boulder in their way.
My contact continues to silently plead with me.
I fish a joint from my center console, light it up, and flick the ashes towards him. The grey dust turning into a small cloud that rains upon my dash and lap. “You did it to yourself, you stupid, tweaked cracker!” I say, but only I hear it. “Besides, you weren’t my only hope for a lead, you dipshit. Just the one I didn’t need to rough up to get to talk.”
I sniff the air and look around my old webeater. Steering wheel, new cover for it, but the wheel its self, the pleather flakes off from under it.
There is duct tape over the slices in the back seat. Bleach stains too. You stab someone a bit too deep, that sort of happens. I threw an old blanket over it.
The view in either side mirror shows Bondo, dents, scratches. No new paint to cover it. Plus the passenger side front fender is off another car, same model, different color. Do I give a fuck that it’s pink? Maybe a little. I might just paint this thing tie-dye style and sell it to some burn out hippy type.
For now, the AC works, the breaks are great, the engine is a work of art and the suspension is a dream! I ran down some fat fucking wop last week, didn’t lose speed, barely felt the bump.
I linger a moment longer, wait for some Ethiopian looking stick figure types to finish crossing and pull into the road. The horn blaring behind me receives the mandatory middle finger signal, as I was more than clear enough that I didn’t cut the asshole off.
I finish off the cup of cold coffee, it was hot when I had gotten it, and chuck it in the back.
“Note to self, clean out the fucking car!” I say.
The asshole that had been behind me rolls up along side me now that we’re at a red light. His window comes down and he’s shouting like he’s some badass. I roll my window down, grab a carton of eggs and wait. He’s still ranting at me. I take an egg out, watch the light, as soon as it turns green, I chuck the two month old cholesterol bomb through his open window. I calmly drive off as he tries to process what had just happened. That shut him up!
7.15am
I am halfway to my apartment when my phone rings.
I put it on speaker as I find a spot to pull over. I don’t need no tickets now. Or ever.
“What?” I ask a bit curtly.
“Aye! Good morning, sun shine!” It is Tony G. and he has that tone in his voice like when I get a bonus or a cake walk job. “Hey, listen, I gots somethin’ fer ya!”
I’m brought out of my thoughts of why my dear mother would name me after some white bread singer and how that sun shine joke is getting old.
“Yeah?” I ask, feeling a bit motivated. Sometimes it’s a free pie. Tony can really make them nice! “What is it?”
“Aye, now, that’s a surprise, Donny!” He is calling me Donny, that means he isn’t with family. Only family will ever hear him use my real name. “Ya come on over to the pizzeria, it’s on my couch.”
Pizza. It’s okay, I love a good pie.
“I’ll be there in fifteen, Tony!” I am feeling happy! My breakfast today was a jelly doughnut, a stale one at that.
I start on over, this time pulling into traffic without the horns or cursing and get no more that fifteen feet from where I was and the fucking phone rings again!
Pull over, answer phone. “The fuck you want!?”
I may have sharted.
“Hey, cousin!” I listen as my cousin from Chicago, forgets my attitude, and asks me for a favor. “Sure! Absitively posolutely I’ll do it!” Upon hearing the way I said that last part, I cringe. ‘I’m hanging around Tony too much!’ I think to myself and my cousin is now giving me instructions.
I realize that I need to write this down and grab some scrap paper and a pen. I lick the jelly off the wrapper and ask her to start over. She chuckles, says I haven’t changed and starts over.
7.45am
“Aye, yous late!” Tony greets me with a hug, a hearty slap on the back, that admittedly sort of hurts. I don’t show it and instead enjoy being part of the family. “It’s back hear!” He motions me to follow.
I do.
We get to the employee break room and he opens the door. I can’t see in with how he holds it and stands there.
“Hey!” He shouts. “Get yer scrawny ass up!”
I watched as a throw pillow bounces softly off of Tony’s face and he frowns. “Shuddup.” That voice caught my attention. “Four useless bikes all fixed and a shitload of heavy crates all moved. Sleepy.”
“I said get yer ass off my couch.” Tony seems amused despite the tone he is using. Not many people can get snippy with him, much less the attitude he was taking now. “Up!” He says again and it responded to with a second pillow. The couch only has two.
“Bring me piller.” The unseen owner of the voice asks sleepily.
“Yous threw ‘em, yous picks ‘em up.” Tony nods to me with a grin.
I hear shuffling, then I hear someone stand. A few steps and I gasp in shock as I see the person pick up the pillows.
My gasp must have caught their attention because they push Tony aside and study me a moment. “Donovan!” The squee type tone hurts my ears, I am latched onto, lifted off my feet and nuzzled as if by a big cat.
Not many people use my real name.
Even fewer are allowed to yell it at the top off their lungs in a crowded building. My mother being one of the five.
One of those five currently holds me.
I stand a good five eleven, broad shouldered, barrel chested, thick arms and legs. I am being held up by a six foot six runner who is using one arm to keep my held close and one to ruffle my hair.
I finally get myself together, burry my face into their shoulder, clinging to them and bawling like a baby. “I thought I’d never see you again!”
WEDNESDAY (Tuyet POV)
So I am healing properly.