#i will send him to the weed store with some of the cash money from my weed shoe to get me something fun

[iii-days-grace]

i heard mysterious thumping noises from my new roommate's room last night but that's not really the kind of thing you ask about unless you're prepared for a potentially awkward answer

anyway i also heard mysterious CLICKING noises this morning and it turns out he just got a drum kit yesterday and i didn't notice the huge empty box for it in the living room

[oikawaplssteponme]

[ part one ]

pairing: Dabi x fem! reader

ratings/warnings: swearing, mentions of scars/injuries, spoilers of Dabi’s identity, minor fighting (?), mentions of homelessness

genre: fluff, angst, flower shop AU, roommate AU, slow burn, ‘right person, wrong life’ (?)

word count: 3.7k words

synopsis: “I see only the good parts of you. I can’t tell if that’s your greatest strength or my greatest weakness.”

a/n: hi hi <3 im so very excited to share this with you all! i worked really hard on it so i hope you all love it as much as i do. it’s pretty long so i will be splitting it into parts so it’s easier to read :) reblogs and your feedback is greatly appreciated!! [ feel free to lmk if you’d like to be tagged in part two ! ] enjoy xx

“Excuse me sir but just so you know, we close in about five minutes.”

The old man nodded and picked up the first flower arrangement he spotted and walked it over to the counter. You smiled and stepped behind the cash register to check him out. He handed you some money and a wave goodbye before stepping out the door.

You could finally take a breath after a long day. You turned off the ’open’ sign from your shop window and began to clean up. You wiped down the counters and swept up any loose petals that laid on the floor. It was a small flower shop, so there wasn’t much you needed to do for closing. It may be small, but you wouldn’t have traded your little shop for anything. You bought the space just about a year ago. Business was much better than you could have ever imagined. You were the only flower shop for a while, which helped.

You went out to the front of your store, sweeping just before the door. You looked at the flower beds that were on your windows. Your eyes could spot a weed from a mile away, so at the sight of a thistle you picked it instantly. Just like any other florist, you absolutely despised weeds.

You went back inside and picked up the garbage to take to the alleyway just behind your store. It was already late at night, so you would simply drop the trash and head back inside.

As your backdoor creaked and you could feel the warm gush of a summer’s night breeze against your face, you threw the large trash bag on the ground.

“Shit-”

You almost jumped out of your skin at the sound of a stranger’s voice. You looked to the side where you had thrown the trash and saw someone beginning to stand up.

“Oh my gosh are you alright?” you asked. The figure stood up and brushed themself off. He had a hood over his head, making it difficult to see his face.

“You woke me up, that's all…”

The voice was deep, almost sending a chill down your spine.

“I’m sorry but-uh- you really aren’t supposed to be back here,” you said. The stranger chuckled.

“I really don’t care.”

The stranger stretched his arms up and yawned. You felt your heartbeat gain speed. You reached behind you for the doorknob.

“Are you headed home?”

“What home?” he huffed.

“Do you have a place to stay for the night?” you asked. The man froze, then looked up at you. You locked eyes with him. Your heart dropped.

“Do you think I’d be welcomed anywhere?”

He was practically made of scars. Patched up like an old rag doll that had never seen the light of day. The medical staples that sat under his eyes looked like they had been pulled, causing blood to stream down his face. A large cut graced his cheek. You really should have been scared to see such a sight, yet you remain where you were. Fight or flight was nonexistent in this moment.

“You’re hurt.”

The man raised a brow. Out of everything that you were looking at right down, you were focused on the cuts and bruises on his tired face.

“Uh yeah, guess so.”

You almost reached out for him, feeling a strong sense to comfort him. You turned the doorknob.

“Here, come inside.”

“What?”

“You’re hurt, let me help.”

You grabbed his hand and led him inside of your shop. He couldn’t believe what was happening, yet he went along with it.

You dropped him off in the middle of your store and went to find the first aid kit in the bathroom. He examined the jungle of where he now stood, drowning the abundance of vibrant colors and floral scents all around him.

“Here, take a seat.”

You pointed to the chair by the wrapping station and set the first aid kit down. He walked over slowly and took a seat as he was told.

“Mind if I ask what happened?” you whispered.

“I wouldn’t know where to start...plus, you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” he said bluntly. You weren’t sure if he was joking or not.

You grabbed some gauze and lightly soaked them in a bit of hydrogen peroxide. You went to clean off the cut across his cheek first. He was looking at the floor.

“Could you take off your hood...please?”

You heard him sigh, then he removed his hood from his head, revealing hair as dark as ink. He looked up at you, his eyes brighter than sapphires. You carefully placed your hand under his chin to hold him still. His skin was rough.

“This might sting a little…”

You gently began to clean his wound, dabbing the gauze across the bleeding area. He didn’t make a sound but you could see him gripping to the arm of the chair.

“Sorry…”

“This your shop?” he asked. You smiled.

“Yeah, all mine.”

“I guess you must like flowers enough to make a career off of them,” he joked. You chuckled.

“I love flowers so I don’t mind the work.”

You threw the gauze away and washed your hands. He rubbed the back of his head.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Of course.”

You put the first aid kit back and went to see him. He was almost falling back asleep in his seat. You tapped his shoulder.

“Do you really have nowhere to stay?” you asked again. He shrugged.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just go back to my alley.” He got up from his seat. You moved to stand in front of the door.

“No no, you can’t sleep on the street,” you insisted. He huffed.

“Why not?”

You sighed. You couldn’t live with yourself knowing you just let him leave.

“It’s not safe. They’re villains on our streets now so you could get even more hurt.”

You watched as his eyes widened. He took a step towards you, having you now pressed against the doorframe.

“Tell me flower girl, do you have any idea who I am?”

You felt the knot in your stomach only worsen. You took a deep breath.

“No...you still haven’t told me your name.”

He took a step backwards now, away from you. There was a blank expression on his face. It soon turned into a smile.

“Dabi. You can call me Dabi.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Dabi. My name is Y/N,” you smiled. Dabi couldn’t believe it. Why were you smiling at him, and why were you being so kind?

“Can you let me go now? Trust me I can take care of myself,” he groaned. You shook your head.

“Look, I have a spare room in my apartment that you can have. It’s small but you’ll have your own bed and a warm pillow. Please, I can’t just let you sleep on the cold ground.”

Dabi tried to form words but none came out. He looked at you, seeing your eyes crying out for him. Your heart was breaking just from looking at him. This had to be the first time in forever where someone had shown Dabi anything but hatred.

“You don’t know me yet you’re inviting me into your home. You might just be crazier than I am,” he laughed. You chuckled nervously.

“Everyone starts out as strangers so I guess this is our start. So, will you spend the night?”

Dabi sighed.

“Fine. One night.”

~

Your apartment was directly above the store. A creaky staircase led you up. You turned on the lights and watched as your little home illuminated itself. Dabi looked around. Similar to the shop, plants were everywhere.

“Here, this will be your room.” You led him to the small guest room that was right next to your own bedroom. It had a neatly made bed and a nightstand.

“It’s small but it’s cozy. I’ll grab you a clean pillow.”

Dabi barely had time to respond before you rushed out the door. He was still in awe.

You grabbed a pillow from your closet and stumbled upon a box. Your eyes lit up.

You went back into Dabi’s room and set his things down.

“Here is a clean pillow, a towel, and some clothes. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to shower,” you explained.

“Are you implying that I stink?” he teased. Your eyes widened and you shook your head violently.

“Oh my gosh no, not at all! I just thought you might like a warm shower…”

“Do you just have men's clothes hanging around your apartment or something? Or is this not the first time you invite strangers off the street inside?”

You chuckled softly.

“Oh the clothes are from an ex of mine that he never came to pick up. I just kept them in case,” you explained. Dabi nodded.

“An ex, huh. Did he dump you or something?”

“It was a mutual breakup. He lives in the states now.”

“Right. Well, thanks to him for the clothes. I guess I’ll shower now if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Bathroom is just down the hall and to your left.”

Dabi picked up the towel and clothes and let himself out. You went over to your room and changed into some pajamas. You could hear the water running which was a good sign.

You couldn’t help but wonder how Dabi ended up like this. You weren’t even sure how to ask such questions. He looked almost burnt from the amount of scarring on his body. Did all of him look like that? And why? Again, how does one even go about asking such a question? You shook your head. It doesn’t matter, you told yourself.

You stretched your arms up as you yawned. You pulled the covers from your bed to let yourself in. You heard a knock on your door.

“Yes?”

The door opened, revealing a wet haired Dabi.

“I smell like a cherry blossom tree now,” he groaned. You chuckled.

“Nothing wrong with that. Oh good, the clothes fit,” you smiled. Dabi wore thick fleece sweatpants and a black tank top. He shrugged.

“Guess so.”

“Is there anything else you need for bed?” you asked. Dabi shook his head.

“No...I should be good.”

“Oh okay. Well let me know if you do need anything,” you insisted.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. You stiffened up. Dabi really wanted an answer. He wasn’t in the mood to be a charity case.

You shrugged.

“Does anyone really need a reason to be kind?”

Dabi opened his mouth but no words came out. He instead grabbed the doorknob and showed himself out. The door shut loudly behind him. You flinched.

“Oh, well, goodnight Dabi.”

•

Dabi rubbed his tired eyes as he attempted to wake himself up. He hadn’t slept that well in ages. He looked to the light that peaked through the window of his room and soon remembered where he was. The memories of last night flooded into his mind. He sighed and got up from the bed.

Dabi peaked his head through the door and scanned the hallway for you. He stepped out of his room and headed for the bathroom. On the sink was a brand new toothbrush that you had laid out for him earlier. He huffed.

After Dabi was finished in the bathroom, he went to the kitchen. There was still no sign of you. He poured himself a glass of water and caught a glimpse of the microwave. There was a note taped to the front.

“Hi Dabi! I’m currently at work and I will be until later tonight. I’m not sure what your plan is for the day but you’re more than welcome to stay here until I finish up for the day. I will hopefully see you later!

P.s. there is breakfast in the microwave for you :)”

Dabi eagerly opened up the microwave to see a large bowl of rice with a fried egg on top, along with a smaller bowl of miso soup. His eyes lit up as he warmed up his meal. Dabi looked back at the note. Well, you did say he could stay until you got back, so there was no harm in making himself comfortable.

He grabbed his breakfast and sat down on the couch of your cozy living room. He turned on the television to whatever channel you were last watching. No surprise it was the nature channel. Dabi chuckled to himself. You certainly had a knack for caring about anything and everything.

~

“Ma’am, like I said, we are closed. You’re more than welcome to come back tomorrow during our hours.”

The woman huffed before finally stepping away from the front door. You sighed. After a very long day, you were glad to be heading up to your apartment. You were honestly excited to see Dabi, if he stayed.

You rummaged for your keys in your pocket and finally let yourself in.

“Hello? Dabi?”

You looked around for any sign of him. You sighed. He must have left, after all, he said it would only be one night. You should’ve expected it. You walked over to your kitchen and saw that his dishes were in the sink. You smiled.

“Oh you’re back.”

You jumped, almost letting out a shriek. You turned around to see Dabi with a towel draped over his shoulders and wearing a fresh pair of shorts.

“You scared me,” you said nervously.

“I get that a lot.” Your eyes widened.

“That's not what I meant-”

“I took another shower and found these shorts in a box. Hope that's okay,” he said. You nodded.

“Yup yup totally fine. You can keep all those clothes by the way.”

“Won’t your ex be back for it?” he asked. You chuckled.

“I don’t think so. Seriously, it’s all yours.”

“Okay.”

Dabi walked over to the fridge and grabbed himself a soda. You couldn’t help but stare. You supposed that this answered one of your many questions. His entire body was covered in scars and burns. They trailed across his torso and even on his legs. The discoloration proved that these weren’t new. He was built and thin all at the same time. Honestly, the sight of him could be enough for anyone to run the other way. Things that are different either scare us or fascinate us. You weren’t sure where you lied. You shook your head, regaining focus.

“Any requests for dinner?” you asked him. Dabi almost choked on his drink. He looked at you with a puzzled face.

“What?”

“Well I would love it if you joined me for dinner. I kinda hate eating alone…” you admitted. Dabi tried not to react. He wiped his face with his towel.

“Anything but fish. I hate fish.”

“Sounds good. I can get things started,” you smiled. You went to search your pantry for what to cook. Dabi grabbed a sweatshirt from the box of clothes. He saw that there was a name on the box, probably that of your ex. Dabi felt a little strange about wearing his old clothes but it was better than the ripped t-shirt he always wore.

You threw some noodles in a boiling pot and began to chop up vegetables. Dabi grabbed a chair from the living room and dragged it into the kitchen. He sat down and watched you cook. You turned around to see him and smiled.

“You said you don’t like being alone,” he said plainly. You nodded.

“Thank you.”

“So, uh, how was work…?” asked Dabi. He sighed to himself honestly wishing he stayed quiet. No one likes small talk, he thought to himself.

“It was good! Pretty busy and some crazy lady came in right at close, insisting to buy a bouquet of daisies but I wouldn’t let her in. I’m not the most intimidating so it took a bit to get her to leave, but overall a good day,” you smiled, “how was your day here?”

“Um good...thanks for the breakfast by the way. I sort of just watched TV all day which was actually kinda nice…” he muttered.

“I’m glad you got to relax.”

Dabi watched as you carefully poured the noodles and broth into two large bowls. You placed them on a tray and walked out to the small dining table in your living room. It was just the right size for two. Dabi trailed behind you, taking a seat.

“I hope you like udon,” you cheered. You placed the bowl in front of Dabi along with some utensils. You sat down beside him.

“Let me know if it's okay.”

Dabi nodded slightly, before taking a sip. As the warm soup filled up his belly, memories came along with them.

“My mom used to make me udon all the time,” he blurted out. You looked up at him with widened eyes.

“Really? Udon seems to be a comfort food for me too,” you replied. Dabi shrugged.

“Comfort isn’t the word I would use but I guess so. I doubt she cooks anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

Dabi took a large slurp of noodles.

“Because my bastard father locked her up in a mental hospital.”

You weren’t exactly sure what to say at this point. You could’ve guessed that Dabi’s childhood was anything but normal but still this seems to have exceeded your expectations.

“Is she okay?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her in about ten years.”

“You can’t visit?”

“No, I can’t.”

You looked down at your food, soon losing your appetite.

“Maybe you could talk to your dad and see if-”

“No.”

Dabi shut you down almost immediately. He gripped onto his chopsticks, almost snapping them. You placed your hands on top of his, loosening his grip.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” you whispered. You gently set Dabi’s hands down on the table. He sighed.

“Listen, there is a lot about me that you don’t understand and probably never will. I hope that I won’t be around long enough to have to explain things to you. It’s just easier that way.”

Dabi ran his fingers through his darkened hair. You pressed your lips together, holding back any sound.

“Maybe if you told me I could-”

“Stop acting like you care! You’re just like everyone else, completely full of bullshit! What? I’m just supposed to walk back into their lives like nothing happened? They killed me! He killed me! I’ll be damned if I take advice from someone I’ve known for a day! I don’t need you-”

Dabi slammed his hands down on the table with heavy force, causing the hot broth from your soup to spill onto you. You jumped up from your seat covering the burned area.

“Shit-”

Dabi’s eyes widened as he sat frozen, seeing from the corner of his eye, you rushing to the kitchen sink. You grabbed a washcloth and ran it under freezing water, pressing it against the burn on your arm.

Dabi looked at your empty chair, then down at his hands. He burned you, just not like he’d ever burnt anyone before. For some reason, this was so much worse.

You sat down on your kitchen floor, trembling as you covered the stinging area of your skin. You heard slow footsteps come towards you. Dabi crouched down beside you, taking the cloth from your hands and running it under the cold water again. He then took your arm, holding it as he pressed the cool cloth over your warm skin. You wiped your eyes.

“I’m sorry-”

“No, I'm sorry. I-I lost my temper and took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Dabi didn’t look at you as he spoke. He stared directly at your arm, begging for there not to be a mark left on you.

“I’ll be okay…” you whispered. Dabi lifted the cloth up, feeling his heart drop.

“Y/N I-”

“See? I’m fine Dabi. It’s just some spilled udon, not the end of the world,” you smiled. Dabi looked up at you, his mouth hanging open.

“But your arm-”

“Everything heals with time. Come on, let's finish dinner.”

You helped Dabi up and walked back to the table. The two of you sat down and finished your meal. Honestly, you felt silly crying over a tiny burn in front of Dabi. So, you brushed it off.

As you washed the dishes, Dabi sat on the chair he had brought into the kitchen earlier. He watched as you hummed along to the soft music playing from your record player in the living room. You did everything with a smile and Dabi didn’t understand why. You swayed your hips as you dried each plate and cup. Before he even knew it, Dabi caught himself smiling.

“Did you want to watch a movie?” you asked him, turning back around to see him. His eyes widened.

“Uh aren’t I supposed to leave?” he questioned back. You looked down at the towel in your hand and shrugged.

“You’re welcome to stay…”

“You want me to stay? Even after all that-”

“How about we don’t talk about that? I think we can both agree that wasn’t either of our best moments.”

“I just don’t understand…”

You walked over to Dabi and stood before him. You looked at him and smiled.

“Dabi, you can stay as long as you need. The last thing I want is for you to be sleeping in the alley behind my shop. You can leave whenever you’d like, no strings attached. I just want you to be happy.”

The way you looked at him with doe like eyes caused his heart to almost skip a beat. Dabi took a deep breath.

“Thank you.”

You nodded, setting the towel back into the sink.

“So, a movie?”

~

It was close to midnight by the time the movie ended. You had dozed off in the middle of it, exhausted from your day of work.

As the credits on the screen played, Dabi looked beside him, seeing you fast asleep. He smiled to himself. You looked so peaceful. He got up and grabbed a blanket from your room, draping it across you. He crouched down on the floor, in front of where you laid. With a shaky hand, he gently stroked your head. He sighed.

“Goodnight flower girl.”

•

reblogs are greatly appreciated! be on the lookout for part two :) <3

[stardancerluv]

Brother’s Keeper

Part 3

Summary: After a night with your longtime friend/crush, recent escapee Brendan Lynch who you were “given to” you wake up and go and grab some things for the two of you.

Warning: language

Quiet a few hours later, you woke up. Somehow, in your sleep you had managed to have curled up to Brendan’s side and his arm held you close. You sighed. There had been so many times when you had wanted, wished to wake up to him.

As carefully as possible, you slid from his grasp and the bed. He remained silently asleep. You smiled as you watched his hand go and itch at his bare chest before his hand remained there, deep in slumber

He was as big as a bear. You were all a flutter as you thought back to the night before. Your stomach lurched as you watched him. Sure, you still had the pudding from last night but he and you needed something to sink your teeth into.

Grabbing your duffle bag you disappeared into the bathroom. Once in there, it dawned on you to check your phone. Your heart sank when you read, One notification... Unread email from BOSS. He better not have changed his mind and gonna try to send that blonde bimbo out to replace you.

Babydoll,

Last night, I was drunk on victory. I was beyond happy that my best man had safely come back into the fold. You know how much I adore you!

So accept my apology for giving you to Brendan. He is a bit of a sap. Weak heart. Good brains, no grit. I am sure he will treat you fine. He gets out of line, tell me I will snip him.

If you need relief or have grown tired of the old man, Jenni said she, she saw you two leave. She is more then willing to help you handle him. And we know how good she is at making men happy.

You will be missed at the bar, babygirl

Friday, I will make it up to you.

Till then, Lenny.

How stupid did he think you were? You shook your head. You knew, he never did anything he didn’t want to nor did he make mistakes. Well, he had no idea what kind of man Brendan was and that was good. But everything, else he ever said or did was methodical.

You knew deep in your heart that he “gave you” to Brendan to teach you a lesson. You cost him a lot of money when he had to get rid of the man who spent a lot of cash whenever he was in when he had groped you. No matter. You will play the role of being a happy little girl as far as he was concerned. It was true but he didn’t have to know that.

Lenny,

I was a little hurt when you did that. I want to be good for you. I want you to be proud of me. That’s why I am the babygirl of the bar, right?

That last part made you ill to write. But you couldn’t let him know how you felt..

So Lenny, please I am doing all I can to keep your best man happy. As only a girl can do after a man had been locked up. Thanks to you he will feel like a king.

Like you said, he is a bit of a sap. He’s has been fine. So no apology or snipping needed. I am happy to say, I don’t need any help. Jenni can help elsewhere. And no need to make any of this up to me. You already did so much just the other day, sending me to the spa and to the stores. I felt so special.

I better get back to it!

See you on Friday.

Babygirl

You hit send and rolled your eyes then tossed your phone back into your duffle bag.

You took a fast shower and changed into some fresh clothes. Coming back out you saw that he was still soundly asleep. You smiled. He deserved it.

Kneeling by his suitcase, you opened it. You were not trying to be nosey. You wanted to see what he could possibly need. You gasped when you saw a gun. Made a hot knot blossom in your stomach. You certainly wanted to see him handle it. You thought despite yourself.

Looking a little further, you saw he needed a few things. You’d get breakfast and perhaps a few other things, since him being out and about wasn’t the best of ideas.

Finding a notepad in the nightstand drawer you quickly scrawled a note for Brendan.

BLT,

I woke up starving. Went to grab us some breakfast. Also to grab you a few things for you.

Lenny, sent me an interesting email. Did he send you one?

Be back soon! Enjoy your pudding while I’m gone.

❤️

She gave it a kiss, then put it down. And hoping this wouldn’t wake him. You bent over and gave him a soft kiss. Relief, he remained asleep, locking the door behind you and putting out the do not disturb you were confident no one would bother you.

******

Grumbling, scratching his chest Brendan looked around. “Y/N, are you here?”

Silence greeted him. Your side of the bed had grown cold. He made a face.

Rubbing his face, he wondered where you could be. Tearing the blanket aside he sat up, swinging his legs over the side.

His eyes caught something. He saw your note and smiled. Relaxing, he stretched. Getting up, he decided to go and take a shower.

*****

“Grabbing something for your husband?” Asked the stooped over woman with small black eyes.

“Oh..um no. My boyfriend.” You went through then jeans and grabbed a pair not for a shirt or two, you mused.

“Ah.”

You swore you could see some level of disapproval but you didn’t care.

“Need any help?”

“Nope! I know what he likes.”

You happily swung the bags at your side as you walked back to your car.

****

He eyed the clock. When had you fucking left. He’s already had been awake and showered for an hour.

He angrily chewed at his gum. You had a point, he had better see if that asshole emailed him. Sure enough, he had a few notifications. He read the one from Sterlo first.

Brendan

She’s a good girl. I like her.

You dodged a bullet with Jenni. Apparently, she saw you walking out. I got stuck with her. At least she satisfied my itch before seeing the wifie.

Wifie, is good and so is ma daughter. She grew like a weed. Let’s meet on Thursday. Bring Y/N. I’ll put on a display for the wife.

While girls chat, can catch up and play a game of chess. I’m in the north maybe one, maybe one and a half. Just past the Rounoake Bar. Being some beer.

Sterlo

Fuckin’ Sterlo he thought. Smiling. He wrote a response.

Sterlo

She was interesting, tried to get Y/N to give me to her.

Yeah, Y/N is a sweetheart. Ya, wifie will like her. It will make a road less bumpy.

See you on Thursday.

B

******

After putting the bags into the car, you went to get some food. In your head, you tried to remember some of the things that he had told you he missed. Like being struck by lightning struck, you remembered. Smiling, you were on a mission.

It took some time, with it all packed up at the last moment, you decided to go and grab a few packs of his favorite beer. Later perhaps, they grab a meal in the motel or something but now this would be a great lunch.

Finding a liquor store nearby she felt lost among the tall looming shelves of the beer. As she looked about she remembered one of her first moment with beer.

It was a hot summer, you were wearing a brand new dress. You had wanted look exceptionally pretty. Helping mom, the two of put out a very smart spread. Michael was out back with Brendan who was fiddling more like cursing at the barbecue. It would be the first of the season to cook on it.

Michael had wandered in to grab more matches. You had swished and went over to Brendan, to offer him a nice ice cold beer.

“Fuck, why don’t you just ignite.” He went and leaned against the table beside it. He ran am exasperated hand through his hair.

“What’s the matter?”

“The fuck...I mean,” He gave you one of his devil care smiles, you made you feel all sorts of bubbly. “It just won’t light.”

“Well, here this will surely make you feel better.” You handed him the beer.

“You are a life saver, Y/N.” He twisted off the came and took a big gulp then he sighed.

He was so cute, you thought.

“Y/N,” He whispered. “Have you ever tried beer?”

“No! I am not allowed.”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Well...you deserve it. Try a little bit.” He said very conspiratorial tone. “I promise not to tell.”

You looked around. Was just the two of you. “Ok!” You took the bottle from his hands and toll a sip. You gasped, but you could’t tell him you hated it. You swallowed your sip. “Oh! That was interesting.” You had coughed.

Your brother had teased you and your mom, who let Brendan off lightly...had punished you into the next week. Young ladies do no sneak drinks...ladies don’t do this or that. You rolled your eyes at the memory.

His lips a grim line, he finally opened the email from Lenny.

Brendan

So welcome home again! How are ya making out?

Has you dick fallen off yet?

An ex boyfriend of hers and an associate of mine told me, she a very eager when it comes to giving blow jobs and spreading her legs. I would not know personally. That’s why I gave her to you. You deserve someone fresh.

She lost me a great amount of money some months back, playing at being a coy little number. I figured I’d finally get back some of what I lost.

Anger burned hot in Brendan’s blood. He had to finish reading it and write some kind of response.

However, since you are the man of the hour...I have a girl, Jenni. I believe you bumped into her. She is even better then Y/N. Her, I did sample and she will make you see stars. So if you wanna switch it up, since basically girls can be like hands. You get tired of using the same one. So she is just a phone call away.

Anyhow! Enjoy your time back in the real world. See you at a eleven thirty sharp at the house.

Lenny

It took everything to not throw the phone across the room.

Mother fucker. He seethed.

Lenny

I am surprised it hasn’t. She almost took me in your kitchen.

She is quite the tasty treat to come home to after all that time. Don’t need anyone else. She also has the stamina that I need.

She’s my type. A short curvy body, hair you can tug on. You have made me very happy.

She begging again. Better go.

Eleven-thirty am, your house on Friday.

Brendan.

He hit send, put then phone on the night stand Tearing open the fridge, he smiled when he saw that the liquor was well stocked was a decent selection. Grabbing some bottles, they clinked when he grabbed them. He twisted the caps off he soon went through four of them. His belly was warm. He was feeling good. Sighing, he tilted his head from side cracking his neck.

It was almost two hours now, he was growing anxious. What if something happened to you. He tried to breath evenly. But he grabbed his gun and made sure it was ready and loaded.

@theblackmaskclub @rosionis @darling-i-read-it @brookisbi @johallzy

[midnightartemis]

Chapter Four

Read Me Here

TW: Violence/Abuse

She woke to dim light leaking through dark curtains and let herself drift in the half-waking half-sleeping world for a while. She was so warm, so comfortable that she never wanted to wake up or leave. Her fingertips danced around something soft and smooth. She froze as the warmth around her groaned and shifted, coming to life beneath her fingertips.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What happened last night? She didn’t remember drinking that much. Not enough to blackout. Had someone slipped something in her drink? Rey scrambled away from the person’s side. The person groaned rolling to his side and stretching a massive arm across the bed towards her. “Mmm... Come back.”

Ben?

The night came crashing back to her. Kuruk gripping her waist hard enough to bruise, already drunk beyond recognition. The sound of a glass bottle shattering. Kuruk breaking his own beer bottle to brandish as a weapon. Ben charging in any way. The way her heart stopped when that broken bottle sliced down Ben’s face. The way Ben never missed a step, yanking the bottle from Kuruk’s hand and throwing it to the ground. After that, it was fists flying. Kuruk getting in lucky shots. But he hadn’t stood a chance against Ben’s blind rage. She didn’t know how many shots Ben got in on Kuruk’s face before she was beside him. Before she caught his hand and he stilled under her touch. She watched that utter calm fall over his face. With the faintest of pulls, she had taken him away. Taken him up the stairs to the loft. Her hands shook as she cleaned his wounds and he looked at her like no one had ever looked at her before. He never tried to push her. Never stepped close to her boundaries. Maybe that was why she had kissed him.

She hadn’t realized that the spare room was his until she jumped into the bed and his musky cologne surrounded her. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep in it either. She knew what it meant. She only fell asleep in places she felt safe. And laying in Ben's bed she had never felt safer.

She still had the nightmares. She always had the nightmares. No one had ever bothered to wake her up before though. And Ben had been so conscious of touching her. Of breaking that boundary just to pull her out.

She didn’t want him to leave. Her heart racing as he crossed his room and climbed into the bed, his feet dangled off the end and he was trying terribly hard to give her as much space as he could. When he looked at her, it was like he was patiently waiting. Wanting. Hoping.

It was the first time she had ever shared her bed with anyone else.

And she had woken up wrapped around him like a little monkey. His warmth and smell were intoxicating. Her heart raced and she pressed her thighs together, but it only made her want worse. Rey’s eyes dipped down his chest before snapping up to the ceiling. It was a normal thing, right? For guys in the morning? It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything.

She wanted to lay down again and let him pull her back into his chest where she’d be safe and warm for a few more hours. She had work at some point. She couldn’t tell the time from the filtered light through the window. And she didn’t have a phone and she didn’t see Ben with one either. She could sneak out, check the time on the oven and sneak back in.

It was a solid plan until the telltale sound of Spongebob filtered through the door. Rey’s heart stopped. Trudge and Ushar watched Spongebob. Trudge and Ushar never got up before noon the night after a party. She was late for work– she was–

“Fuck. Fuck. No no no no no no no.”

Rey scrambled over Ben, accidentally kneeing him in the gut.

“Ow, fuck.” Ben jerked awake as Rey scrambled to find the pants and the shoes she kicked off in the middle of the night. “Rey?”

“I have to go.”

“Rey, wait, slow down. What–” Ben rubbed the sleep from his eyes, wincing as his hand touched the open wound on his face. “Fuck.”

“I’m late for work. I– Plutt is going to kill me.” Rey buttoned her pants and jumped her feet into her holey knockoff vans.

Ben pushed himself out of bed. “Hold on, I can give you a ride.”

Rey fought with herself. She didn’t want to be indebted to him but with a ride across town maybe– just maybe– she wouldn’t be late enough for Plutt to be super pissed.

“It’s just a ride.” Ben was already standing and pulling on a t-shirt and grey sweats. He moved around her as she ripped her hair out of the last surviving bun. Rey twisted her hair up into a singular bun as Ben slipped on a dingy pair of Nike slides and grabbed his car keys and wallet off the desk.

Rey practically shoved him out of the room. The twins and AP sat on the couch with bowls of cereal and coffee. AP barely acknowledged her, choosing instead to glare at Ben. Ushar and Trudge were still too out of it to comment on her leaving his room with him.

“AP you’re on Kuruk duty. Everyone else can clean up. I’ll be back.” Ben through his commands over his shoulder as he opened the lock on the door. She rushed ahead of him, hurrying down the stairs to the parking lot. There was only one car she didn’t recognize– an old black mustang. Rey waited impatiently at the passenger door as Ben manually unlocked the driver's side and slid in, reaching over to open the passenger door. Rey slid in.

“Where to?” The engine started up with a roar.

“Plutt’s Pawnshop. It’s ‘cross the river. On Deerwood.”

“Plutt’s?”

“Yeah. Go.” Rey glanced at the analog clock on the dash and began nervously tapping her fingers against her leg. She didn’t need his judgment. Everyone on the southside knew about Plutt’s business dealings. Ben put his foot on the gas and got her there in record time.

She was still fucking late.

He pulled up a block away when she told him too. Her hand was on the door handle before the car was even in park.

“Wait.”

“I can’t–“

Ben pulled his share of the weed money out of his pocket. “This is yours.”

Rey glared at him.

“For the questions.” He added quickly.

She softened. “Put it in the safe. Plutt will only steal it if he finds it. I have to go.”

Rey slipped out of the car and took off running down the back alley that dumped her out at the fence to Plutt’s scrapyard. She ran along the fence and squeezed between the gap between the fence and the breeze block building. She had been eating enough lately that she almost didn’t fit.

Plutt wasn’t in the yard. Rey steeled herself as she walked in the back.

Unkar Plutt was a heavy squat man with a beer gut that rolled over the top of dirty blue sweatpants from underneath a yellow-stained cigarette-scarred wife beater. He had a face like a blobfish with a bulbous blackhead filled nose and lifeless fishlike lips and beady black eyes. His skin always looked jaundiced except for when he was mad and it turned dark shades of red and purple. It turned purple when those dead eyes landed on her. If it wasn’t for the customers in the shop, her life may well have ended there. Rey forced herself to step behind the counter, Plutt’s stench hitting her like a brick. He grabbed her arm above her sleeve and squeezed, but she refused him the honor of a whimper, looking down as she tried to not gag on the smell of rotting teeth.

“I’ll deal with you later, ungrateful cunt. I don’t have the fucking time for little whores who show up late to work. No pay. No food. You come home tonight or you’ll get it ten times worse next time I see you.” Plutt let her go and Rey clung to the counter as she tried to stay upright. Plutt slammed his fist into the register and pulled out a fifty when it opened.

She watched, shaking, he lumbered out the front door. Probably to grab tonight’s drinks of choice. He’d be near blackout when she got home. Rey sat down at the cash register and tried not to think about warm soft skin under her fingertips or a strong arm gently wrapped around her waist. The man who reached for her but never touched. The store hours moved slowly. She didn’t sell anything or buy any of the junk that came her way. She knew when to look the other way.

Rey closed up shop as slow as she could without it being slow enough to warrant wasting time. Plutt expected her when he expected her. He didn’t like to be kept waiting. She walked through the darkening streets alone. Cars passed by, their headlights highlighting the dark sidewalk. She didn’t need to see where she was going anymore. She had it memorized now.

She stopped outside of the tiny rundown house. The exterior was crumbling at the edges, the white paint now grey with dirt and pollution. The porch always threatened to give out under her feet and she wondered how it could bear to take Plutt’s weight every day.

The door whined and screeched as she pushed it open. The living room tv blared an ‘As Seen On TV’ commercial loudly. Plutt sat in his brown recliner, an empty beer in his hand. Freshly finished.

“Gemme a drink, girl.” His slurred voice came from the folds of the chair.

Rey went to the kitchen right away. Her hand shook as she pulled out another beer and popped the top. Maybe he had forgotten all about it. Maybe he didn’t care anymore.

Rey approached the recliner and handed Plutt the beer. His meaty fisted wrapped around her wrist and yanked her closer. “Cum’mon little cunt gimme a kiss.”

Rey tried to yank away but only succeeded in sending beer everywhere. Rey watched in horror as it dripped onto Plutt’s stained shirt.

“The fuck you’ve done.”

She felt the sting of his blow before she heard it. Her cheek pulsed as she pushed herself off the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It was my bad. I’ll get you a new shirt.”

She turned only to see Plutt’s hands reach out and grab her and throw her against the wall. “You ungrateful little slut. I give you a job. The roof over your fuckin’ head.”

Another shot to her face. Rey reeled, her body slipping into flight mode. But Plutt had her cornered now. She stared into those beady black eyes. He wasn’t drunk, not even close. He was wide awake and out for her blood. A blow to her gut sent her to the floor but a fist her in hair brought her to her feet again. Rey felt her face connect with something hard, tasted the tang of blood on her tongue, saw the darkness rapidly approaching.

Right foot Followed by a left foot We'll guide you home before your curfew And into your bed

Standing on our tip-toes Peering through open windows I swear I heard my name

Sit tight with the lights off Waiting for my brain to start Trying to work things out It's thunder and it's lighting And it's all things too frightening I could barely see outside

Your body was black and blue It struck twice there's nothing new

Your body was black and blue It struck twice there's nothing new

- It's Thunder and It's Lightning, We Were Promised Jetpacks

[ididntchoosethebeardlife]

ok so remember when my car got stolen 6 months ago? well they FOUND IT. i got a call sunday from oroville PD said they found the car so me and my mechanic buddy went up today to look at it and it was in SURPRISINGLY GOOD CONDITION

like it’s Honda Civic ok? this is a very commonly stolen and very commonly chopped up and sold for parts type of car like me and my friend were expecting to find a husk but the only thing that was gone was the stereo. it had a few other small issues but we jumped the battery and put some gas in it and it ran FINE. 

Basically we figured that the thief must have had a shaved key, since there were no signs the door or ignition had been forced and civics are so similar that a little modification to an existing key will make it fit in a different car. Then they took the car, lived in it for a while (there were kids shoes and other clothes in the back seat) and then abandoned it either because they got their life together or got caught on something else (the car was found abandoned near a parole house).

Anyways we took it up the hill to Paradise because I needed somewhere to stash the car while i figured out what to do with it and both my friend and my dad have empty lots where our respective houses used to be that make great parking lots these days. We get up there, my buddy has his own civic that’s too busted to drive, we swap out the batteries because mines dead as hell, then i call my DAD who’s been living on the property in a trailer since my mom took my little brother and moved out of the house they’d been staying in since the fire. Dad has plenty of room to store cars on the property, I’d already talked to him about it he was down. I tell him now that i’ve found the car in acceptably driveable condition, he goes “shit I’d even buy it off you,” i say SWEET, drive it over, hang out with my dad for a bit, and sell it to the old bastard for FUCKIN 3 GRAND. Like I was expecting to spend the next month trying to sell it on craigslist (and tbh i might have made more money that way) but now at least i know who has it and if i ever need it again i can just buy it back from him

He also tells me one of HIS friends just got a weed harvest in, hits the guy up, give me his address, and sends me on my merry way. So I go down, me and my friend talk to the guy for a bit, dude gives me almost a half ounce of dank, fresh-off-the-plant weed FOR FREE and sends us once more upon out merry way.

So we have a nice drive back to sacramento, experience some vulnerability talking about our respective family problems. get back to his apartment where our other friend and his gf made a nice lasagna for dinner and then i came back to my house just a bit ago and wrote this post.

TL;DR i got my stolen car back, immediately flipped it for $3k cash, got free weed, and just had a great goddamned day

[rookisaknight]

Who Knows What the Next Half Hour, Forty-Five Minutes Hold- A Sharky x Deputy fic

Guess who finally finished that meet cute ideaaaaaa. So this got long enough that I’m actually gonna put it on AO3 as well because I’m an attention hungry bitch. This is set pre-game events (like, a couple months before), and is a gender neutral Deputy because, in the words of a great man, “I don’t wanna go assumin nobody gender”

Fic Summary: You don’t expect your luck to turn around via getting caught trying to light a squad car on fire. But then, weirder things have happened for Sharky.

Word Count: 3721

They hadn’t invented a curse word good enough for the kind of day Charlemagne “Sharky” Boshaw the IV was having. Not that this was stopping him from cycling through a few choice ones, trying to find one who’s mouthfeel and vitriol would encompass the capital B Bullshit he was putting up with today.

First off, waking up in a drunk tank was never a good way to start the morning. Especially not with that shithead Pratt, who’d lately taken to amusing himself by waking up the nightly collection of hedonists with decidedly non-regulation use of the prison’s speaker system. The only thing worse than waking up with a blistering headache and a knot in your back is having it happen to the tune of “Chicken Fried” at 120 decibels.

“Fuck, dude, I should kill ya for bad taste if nothin else!” He had tried to scream over the fuckin acoustic strumming. Pratt had just snickered, handing a coffee mug to his P.O., who looked just as amused by the whole scenario.

It was only after he’d shouted himself hoarse that Pratt finally agreed to give him his phone call. Voice squeaking with dehydration and overuse, he’d by some miracle got Hurk on the phone and tried to talk him into bailing him out. Problem was, Hurk was (as per fuckin usual) short on cash. The old man was also piss drunk mad at him (once again, usual), but he thought maybe Addie might be in a good enough mood to chuck a little his way. The thought of Aunt Adelaide had momentarily perked him up until he realized that if Hurk couldn’t get the money from her, he was gonna have to be able to talk to Hurk again to sort things out. And given how absolutely certain he was that Staci was going to shove the “one-phone-call-only” stick up his ass in a few minutes......that meant he was gonna have to stay on the line.

He spent the better part of two hours, head pounding, mouth only getting dryer as he listened to Hurk putter around looking for his keys, getting continually distracted, finally getting in the fuckin truck and driving up to the Marina, only to discover the reason Addie had seemed so good-tempered in her response to her only son’s good morning text is that, judging by what Sharky could hear over the tinny reception, she and Xander were....busy.

What followed was a three way screaming match of Addie yelling at Hurk to get the hell out, Sharky yelling at Hurk to stay the hell there, and Hurk yelling their responses back and forth across the phoneline.

Finally Xander tossed his wallet at Hurk in an effort to make him leave (“he seemed real excited about this harness thing Mama was fussin with, I dunno”), and after paying off his bail, slipping an extra fifty to keep his P.O happy, and begging a ride home, Sharky was more than ready to take some aspirin, find a six pack, and wash off last night’s hangover with a tonight’s beer.

No such luck. His truck had been impounded after last night’s little misadventure. And he felt his heart sink into the holes in his socks when he saw the big black Eden’s Gate cross in the window of the only liquor store in walking distance

“MotherFUCKINGdamnit not you too!”

Had he lost his temper a bit? Sure. Did he expect the windows to still be alarmed? No. But, he thought to himself as he beat feet into the woods before any cops could pick up on it, Eden’s Gate had only themselves to blame for it! Wasn’t enough that they had to get half of Holland Valley so all-fired on chastity that he couldn’t move without getting a pamphlet on lust shoved up his nose and down his pants, now they had to deprive him of his well-earned booze too!

Like most residents of Hope County he didn’t know what the hell the cops were playing at letting the Peggies keep running as they did. Sure, John Seed and Faith were running spin so well it made carousels jealous, but it was the state’s worst kept secret that the recent rash of disappearances could be pretty easily traced to them. Not to mention the scars most of their members were sporting....Hell, maybe he should recommend Pratt to the evangelists that came knocking through his trailer park early each Sunday.

.....No. No he wouldn’t. Jackass though he was....well. From the stories Sharky’d heard and the bits and pieces he’d seen for himself, he wouldn’t wish that on anyone’s head.

Still, he felt irritated. Frustration building inside him like a pressure cooker as he shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets, feeling his feet unconsciously make tracks for the ruins of the old roller derby. He needed to cool off.

People made the mistake of looking at him alongside Hurk and assuming he was just as mellow. He wasn’t. Sure, the weed and the beers kept him nice and chilled out, usually, but without a substance in his hands he was at the mercy of the spastic energy that was always cooped up in his body. He needed to...shit. Hit something maybe? Prank calls?

No.....no he knew this feeling.

He needed to burn something.

He fished the lighter out of his pocket, sending up a quick thank you that Pratt hadn’t taken it off him. He was running low on them with the new P.O sticking his nose into every nook and cranny to squirrel out contraband. Something about enablement and all the other bullshit his court-appointed therapist liked to recite to him in their bi-monthly sessions.

With a huff, he leaned against a tree, flicking it on and off again. Trying to lose himself in the little bright patch of flame. Sometimes this would at least take the edge off. Today, though? He was gonna need a lot more than a measly little two buck zippo.

His options were limited. Normally in a case like this he’d go for a campfire but it was the dry season and any smoke was certain to have those smarmy pricks from the fire department up his ass. He flicked the lighter a few more times, hoping maybe it’d concur with a lightbulb moment and he could have that dramatic satisfaction.

Out of the corner of his eye he suddenly saw a gleam of white aluminum.

He glanced over and instinctively dove behind the tree once he realized what it was. Police cruiser. Of all the days....He observed it cautiously before slowly emerging. Didn’t look like anyone was there. Keys weren’t even in.

He’d gotten acquainted enough with most of the police vehicles in town to know this one was Pratt’s chosen steed. You could tell by the number of air-fresheners he kept in there: one of his tricks he insisted made chicks feel more at home in a car.

(Not like Sharky’d tried that or anything. And even if he had, the lingering odors were finally coming out of the upholstery after the fourth wash. “Stripper smell” his ass....)

Most importantly, though, like most people around here, Pratt didn’t lock his doors....

Sharky’s lightbulbs usually took a while to kick on but this one seemed to burn a few watts brighter than most.

He took a quick check of the surrounding woods. Long practice had taught him what made for good kindling and what didn’t. It was pretty much the only thing he’d kept from a few frustrating years in 4H, aside from a couple of hoofshaped bruises on his arms and a healthy fear of pigs.

And that was the moment when he realized all the bullshit of the day had been leading him to this single, perfect, shining moment. Because right there, nested amongst a beautiful layer of crisp pine needles and perfectly dried out branches....was chamerion angustifolium.

More commonly known as fireweed.  

He moved fast as he could, carefully laying the groundwork in the backseat of the cruise, setting it up with the savoir-faire of a practiced artist. The finished product damn near brought a tear to his eye. He couldn’t resist taking a picture, moving it to a hidden folder reserved for porn and particularly nice stills from period piece movies.  

He’d just found some clubmoss and was debating whether or not he had the time, scraping the fine powder off the stalks and into the center of the tinder...

“I didn’t find anyone”

The voice jerked him out of his reverie and his head snapped up.

“Yeah, me either.” Said a tired voice. Wait, he knew that one.....Deputy Hudson?

He slowly poked his head around. Yeah, Hudson alright, stomping through the woods, looking her usual vaguely tired/irritated self. She was talking to a figure he didn’t recognize (and Sharky flattered himself that he was pretty familiar with the figures of Hope County).

Shit. Should he run?

“Should we call it in?” they were saying, hand reaching for the radio clipped to their belt.

Hudson sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I dunno. Lot of trouble to go to over a busted window. Specially when there wasn’t anyone in there.”

Fuck shiiiiit they were looking for him then. He thought about bolting, but.....he looked at the kindling. There was no way this wouldn’t point back to him. He raised his hand to smash it but it was like asking Leonardo to smash the Mona Lisa. Or was is Raphael? One of the turtles...

“Still, it is Eden’s Gate property now....will that be a problem?”

“It will be. Question is, if we care or not.”

The stranger looked down, biting their lip. Hudson seemed to notice and snorted. “Right. Look, I know they seem intimidating but if the department went into a frenzy everytime somethin happened that Joseph Seed didn’t like then we’d never stop frenzy.....ing.” She grimaced a bit at how the sentence ended.

“So what should we do.”

They were too close, if he bolted now they’d see him run.

“Tell ya what.” She came to a halt. “We’ll do a last sweep. If we don’t find anything we’ll call it a day. Tell Seed it was a big bird or something.”

“You’re sure?”

“Trust me, Rook, the sheriff won’t care and I don’t wanna be out here any longer than I have to be. You go left, I’ll go right, we meet back in ten minutes. Sound good?”

He let out a slow sigh of relief. They’d leave, he’d (carefully) dismantle the pile, and he’d be gone. No point doing it if Pratt wasn’t gonna suffer the consequences. He started to slowly rise to his feet.

“Alright, see you the-”

Several things happened in the span of a few seconds.

One. Sharky remembered the sleeve of his hoodie was a bad place to keep his lighter. He remembered this as he watched it topple out.

Two. his instincts kicked in and he snatched at it, catching it just as it hit the pile of spores. The contact of his hand made them fly into the air in a puff.

Three.

His thumb caught the sparkwheel.

He felt a sharp pain in his right hand that caused him to scramble backwards as his eyes were blinded by a bright flash. He felt his facial hair singe  and a wall of heat on his face, and heard distant cursing.

Long experience had gotten him used to being blinded, and his vision recovered quickly. Quick enough to see the minor explosion evaporate out of the air, catching the tinder just as it faded away.

His ears were ringing and he didn’t hear them running towards the car, but he sure as shit felt it when the stranger cop tackled him to the ground. Hudson followed close behind, cursing loudly and hurriedly using the jacket to stifle the flames that were steadily eating through the upholstery.

“Who the hell are you?!” the stranger said, grabbing the front of his hoodie and pulling him up to look at them.

“uh.....Jimmy Buffet?” He said stupidly, mildly dazed. Didn’t help that this stranger had a pretty ass pair of eyes. Or maybe that was just the shock talking.

Hudson finally managed to choke out the fire, backing off and taking a deep breath before taking a look at the culprit.

“.....Boshaw?!”

What mirror had he broken

“You know him.”

“Ohhhh I know him.” Hudson straightened off, looking torn between anger and mild amusement. “The local serial arsonist. Thought Pratt had you drying out in the tank?”

“I wanna lawyer” He groaned.

“Yeah, yeah. Get off him, Rook, contrary to appearances, he isn’t dangerous. Just stupid.”

The stranger (Rook? Rookie? A last name? Who knew) clambered off him, looking slightly sheepish at having gone full Rambo for no apparent reason. “What should we do.”

“What you’re gonna do.” Hudson said, hauling him to his feet. “Is start the car and make sure it still runs.”

“Aw, c’mon, this aint necessary-” Even as he protested, out of long habit he assumed the position against the cruiser, wrists moving into position for easy cuffing.

“No, but it sure is fun” Hudson said, snapping them on. Loose.  Which was almost more humiliating, and not in the fun way either.

The car turned on as normal.

“Well. Guess we don’t have to add ‘vehicle replacement’ to your list of fines.”

“I didn’t put nothin in the dash! I’m not tryin to kill anybody, just deal with some highly justifiable frustration-”

“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in court of law.” Hudson said quickly, cutting across his excuses as she forced him into the passenger side of the cruiser. “Rook, take him into the station, Pratt’ll know what to do. I’m gonna radio the Sheriff and let him know we found the window perp.”

“Hey, you got no evidence that was me!” He protested. “Just cause I happen to be in the same area as a liquor store doesn’t mean I’m-”

“How’d you know it was a liquor store.”

“........hey can we have a mulligan on the ‘right to remain silent’ thing-”

Hudson rolled her eyes. “Knowing Earl he’s gonna wanna come up himself and make sure the report’s in order. I’ll catch a lift back with him.”

“Got it.” Rook said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “See you at the station.”

They put it into drive and pulled out.

Sharky tried remaining in sullen silence but that was bound to last all of two minutes. His foot jiggled restlessly as he started racing through his options.

“Hey! You have any idea how serious this is?” they snapped, glaring at him. “What the hell were you trying to do?”

“Not talkin till I get a lawyer.”

“That ship’s kinda sailed don’t ya think? What the hell did you do, pour gasoline on the seats? An explosion that big, you’re lucky it didn’t destroy the car and take you out with it-”

“Its clubmoss”

“.....what?”

“Its clubmoss!” He said, snapping a bit more than he would’ve normally liked. But damn it, dude, this was the one area where he actually knew what the fuck he was talking about! Actin like Sharky Boshaw didn’t know exactly how much havoc he was wreaking was an insult to his professionalism. “Its basically plant flashbang.”

“What do you....”

“Here, just-” He slipped out of the cuffs easily enough, and ignoring their sputtering protests, he reached into the backseat and scraped up a handful of the green powder that hadn’t burned off in the explosion. “Slow the car down”

“I’m not gonna-...you-”

“I’m not gonna run. Not lookin to get tackled again.”

“....” Curiosity got the better of them and he felt the car slow to a crawl.

He rolled down the window, tossed the powder in the air, and in the same moment sparked his lighter. A burst of flame, much smaller than the last but burning out just as quick, appeared and disappeared, making Rook yelp.

“Clubmoss spores are chockful of lycopodium powder. They use it in movies and shit for special effects, the stuff doesn’t last long enough to cause real damage and won’t light unless it’s in the air.” He rolled back up the window, absently slipping the handcuffs back on. “Found that out from a behind the scenes featurette on this old bible movie from the church basement. Used to watch it a lot for the scene where God tossed down fire on the Egyptians or whoever. That is uh.....until the pastor confiscated it. Turns out the church basement still qualifies as holy ground and popping a boner anywhere on holy ground ain’t exactly considered kosher.”

.....Judging by the look on their face? Probably should have stopped after “behind the scenes featurette”

“So you’re a uh....special kind of crazy huh.”

“....The technical term is serial arsonist” He muttered, turning away with a flush.

“Well.....its a cool party trick at least.”

“Its-” Wait....wait, were they smiling?! Cops could smile at something that wasn’t the pain of others? Didn’t that violate some kind of code?

“Gotta say, if I were you I would’ve left the handcuffs off.” They turned onto the main road.

“Uh....” Shit, they really were cute. Or maybe that was the 6 months dry spell talking. “...gonna be honest, I don’t recall puttin em back on.” Cmon, cmon, think of something sexy to say. “Probably cause of uh...how used I am to being in handcuffs. For pleasurable reasons. I associate handcuffs with very....very good moments.” Nailed it.

“Well, given how much time Pratt says you’ve spent in holding cells I guess some of those memories have to be pleasant.”

Unnailed.

“So why’d you break the window?”

“What window.” He said instinctively. The Deputy gave him a Look and he shrugged. “.....look, I understand, freedom of religion and all that shit, but comin between a man and his liquor store has to qualify for some kind of offense, right?”

They snorted. “Well. Not that I don’t sympathize but I don’t know how well a judge is gonna take to that line of reasoning.”

“Wait, a judge? I don’t....look, we don’t need to take it that far-”

“Its probably what’s gonna happen. Those Peggies.....” their voice trailed off. Unsure how much shit-talking they could do in uniform. “Never seen a group so eager to press charges.”

Sharky groaned. “You gotta be fuckin....Officer, come on, I can’t do another couple months in prison. You know how boring it is in there? I mean, sure, the first few days are fine, you get to catch up with everyone, but after that you realize you’re gonna have to get used to watching all these guys take a piss for the next few months and it gets old real fast.”

“Its not really my call.”

“Its not like I even hurt anybody” This time. “Just a little reupholstering job, hell, I’ll stitch the damn seat cover myself-”

“I’m sorry but....I don’t think there’s anything I can do”

They sounded genuinely sympathetic, something he wasn’t used to from law enforcement. Maybe this one really did have a human side after all...

.....Well. Looked like the day had finally come that Sharky had been waiting for his whole life. He leaned back, pulling off his hat and running a hand through his hair a few times and trying to get a look at himself in the rearview mirror. Alright, so he wasn’t exactly Ryan Gosling, but this wasn’t the worst he’d ever looked...

“I mean uh...” He let his voice drop about a half octave and leaned into the hoarseness to go for that rougher quality. “If you want...I could find a way to make it worth your whILE”

His voice squeaked. Cracked like it hadn’t since early puberty.

A deathly silence settled over the car.

And then the deputy erupted in laughter.

Loud, long laughter, making their shoulders shake as they bent over the wheel. Gasping for air, they were forced to put the car in park just to keep them from driving off the road. Practically screaming with it.

“Alright, alright” He muttered, shoving his hat back on as his face went bright red. “I can take a hint”

They pounded the dash. “Y-you-....you-!” Tears were streaming down their face as they snorted helplessly. And despite the humiliation of the scenario....it was infectious enough to make him crack unwittingly into a grin.

Eh, what the hell, longer it took them to recover, longer he was out of prison.

“What’s so fuNNY” He said, forcing the crack again, which reinvigorated the laughing.

“Stop, stop, I-I’m gonna puke” They gasped out, choking a bit.

Sharky patted their back. “Sooo that’s a no I’m guessin.”

They shook their head, grinning ear to ear and straightening up as they caught their breath. “Get going.”

“What?”

“Go. Leave the handcuffs. I’ll make up some excuse.”

“....you’re serious?” His eyes widened. “Please, fuck, be serious, Staci let me get like 20 feet before hitting me with a taser in the back and let me tell you that think hurts like a bit-”

“You’ve been punished enough today, I think. And we’ve got actual threats to deal with these days.” They pulled off a key from the ring and handed it to him. “No offense.”

“....I mean, ok, a little offense normally, but given the circumstances, none taken” He unlocked the cuffs quickly and shot out of the car before they could change their mind.

“Hey, Boshaw!”

“Uhhh.....you can call me Sharky. Sounds a bit more normal.” He turned back to look at them.

They smiled. “Sharky then. Honey in tea is gonna help that voice of yours a lot more than beer. And try not to burn the forest down on the way.”

“Can do ma’-...si-....officer!” He waved and ran off fast as he could. He heard their laughter echoing a bit as the car pulled off.

.....Maybe it might be worth sticking on the right side of the law for a couple weeks, at least.

Or maybe not. How the hell else was he gonna see them again?

[princelywhore]

okay so. college au right? and richie is totally a weed dealer. eddie is in one of his classes, and literally spends the entire period s t a r i n g, because the guy with the big glasses is adorable!!! but he doesn’t have the courage to talk to him. so one day at like 1 am, bill fricking drags eddie to the store to guy chips cuz he’s apparently got a craving, and then. he sees richie. and richie is buying lots and lots of snacks. you decide the rest, bro.

thank you so much for the prompt! this is my first time ever writing fan fiction so any criticism etc is very much welcome, I want to improve as much as I can. also yeah I wrote this instead of doing homework… anyways enjoy

Fancy Seeing You Here (read it on ao3)

Word Count: 1,355

Warnings: None except for Eddie’s potty mouth and also Richie the Drug Dealer 

Oh fuck.

Shit.

Fuck.

This is the day that Eddie Kaspbrak dies, or maybe Bill Denbrough. If looks could kill, the glare that Eddie was currently sending him should’ve made the man drop dead to the ground.

“I will fucking end you, Denbrough,” Eddie whispered, but quickly gave up that notion in favour of pulling Bill in front of him as a makeshift wall to hide himself - and more importantly Bev’s pink Friends pajama bottoms he currently had on - from the man at the other side of the aisle.

The man, Richie Tozier, stood with both hands in the pockets of his worn-out denim jacket studying the rows of chips in front of him. A basket from the store lay in front of his feet, it was an ugly brown and had the slogan ‘thank you for shopping with us’ on either side. It was filled accordingly with bags of gummies and other candies. Eddie was silently judging the food choices from where he could see past Bill’s broad shoulders, blanching at the sight of all those sweets, questioning how one man could eat all those himself.

Bill, to his credit, hadn’t moved once since Eddie decided that his new purpose in life was to be a human wall. Eddie was now shielding himself from the campuses’ most famed drug dealer, as well as his long-time crush.

It was no secret between their friend group that Eddie had a crush on Richie fucking Tozier of all people, but it was more surprising that they still hadn’t met, with them being in the same class and having multiple mutual friends.

That’s why when Eddie decided to stay the night at Bev’s place with Bill and her to study, Bill decided he needed a bag of chips or two and some Red Bulls as fuel to press on for the rest of the night, also deciding that Eddie should accompany him.

Of course, he made this life-changing decision at 1 am, the same time Richie Tozier was roaming the 7-Eleven looking for a pack of smokes and god knows what else. Although Bill and the other losers all knew what the snacks were for.

A party, tomorrow at Bev’s place, or he guesses tonight, being as the clock above Richie’s toft of messy black hair now reads 1:34 am.

Sure the losers could’ve waited an extra day before introducing the two of them, but Beverly - god bless her scheming little soul - wanted to speed up the process.

“Long time no see, ol’ chap.” A bony arm was slinking around Bill’s shoulders and pulling him towards the tall and lean figure that was Richie Tozier.

“I just s-s-saw y-you yesterday, Rich,” Bill replied, smiling slightly before being pulled into the figure, even more, revealing a fuming and blushing Eddie.

“And yet, during all that time spent apart you’ve managed to get yourself a girlfriend,” Richie says, stealing a glance at Eddie before looking back at the boy, “…and a cute one at that.”

“Th-this is Eddie, h-he’s helping Bev and me study,”

“Beverly, you say?” Bill nodded, “I knew I recognized those pjs from somewhere”

Eddie was redder than one of Pennywise’s balloons, “hey these are comfortable, I’ll have you know.”

“Don’t sweat it Eds, I steal Bev’s skirts and tops all the time. Girl’s got a mad sense of fashion.”

It was then that the two of them noticed Bill’s overall lack of presence.

“Fuck, you kidding me, Bill. I don’t have the money to pay for this shit,” Eddie looked around again trying to spot auburn-haired man.

“Here, let me pay for all that.” Richie pulled out his wallet only to take a quick look at the single twenty and mutter a quick string of curse words.

Eddie took note of the single twenty and without much thought added, “shit, you’d think as a weed dealer you’d have more cash on you.”

“Very funny, now take this, I’ve got a plan.” Eddie was being shoved the ‘thank you for shopping with us’ basket along with all its contents. Richie then whispered the instructions for his plan while being far too close to Eddie with them having just met. Eddie was as frozen as the shitty concrete statue of Ben Franklin that sat at the front of their college. Richie grinned at something Eddie didn’t quite understand and tried to think of anything but the warmth coming from the man next to him.

“You got all that Eds?” He asked, only moving away slightly to look him properly in the eyes.

It was at that moment staring into the dark eyes of Richie fucking Tozier that Eddie was brought back to their shared class, and all the hours Eddie must have spent just staring at the dark-haired boy sitting a few seats in front of him. He thought back to that one day in class when he caught the boy returning his stares.

It was the day Richie was late, later than usual. It had become part of the class routine to have the Trashmouth show up fashionably late each class, much to the disappointment of their teacher. But this time he was well past a half-hour late, showing up with his usually messy hair even more unruly, sporting a pair of plaid pants that were most definitely pajamas.

When he walked in his eyes immediately shifted over to Eddie’s, looking him up and down before grinning at the man.

That was the day that Eddie knew he wasn’t just staring at him because he was the famed drug dealer, or because of his sharp features, or because he got on his nerves like he did with the rest of the class. Eddie had a crush, a very big crush. A crush that was slowly killing him, because Eddie wasn’t out. The only people he’d ever told were his friends, and even that had been a challenge. He didn’t want to like any boys, let alone the gorgeous one standing right in front of him gazing down at him with a concerned look on his face. Because he still hoped deep down that what his mother told him was true, that he wasn’t gay, and that this was just him being envious of other guys. That’s all.

“What?”

“I said ‘you got all that?’” Richie laughed, “you good Kaspbrak? You sure you got a stomach for crime?”

“Yeah, I’m not chickening out anything, and how’d you know my last name-“

“Okay well andale my good friend, andale!”

And that’s how Eddie ended up stealing a shit ton of snacks with Richie ‘slowly turning into the possible - but also no let’s not go there yet - love of his life’ Tozier.

Richie talked the store clerk’s ear off attempting to flirt with him as a distraction while Eddie took the brown basket of snacks and ran for his life through the automatic doors of 7-Eleven. After a brief asthma attack and a string of curse words first aimed at Richie but later at Bill, Eddie found himself sitting on the curb in the crisp cold of the early morning with Richie. It had certainly been an interesting night, and he found himself enjoying Richie’s company while they talked about class, and then their friend group, which Eddie learned Richie calls the Losers because ‘every friend group needs a kickass nickname, kinda like a gang you know?’

Eddie replies asking if Richie knew of any hardcore gangs called the ‘Losers.’

Richie hadn’t.

“I should probably get back to Mike’s place before he goes all ‘mom mode’ and freaks the fuck out, or puts my face on some milk cartons.” Richie stood up, holding out his hand to help Eddie up too. He then noted that the smaller man was shaking, and handed him his worn-out jacket to wear, ignoring Eddie’s ‘I’m fine, it’s not that cold.’

“I’ll see you later, Eds.” He drawled, once the jacket was situated, saluting him with a pale hand before walking away.

“Don’t call me…” But Richie was already gone, “… Eds,” he finished, beat red.

[alvmilla]

Is that JUSTINE MAE BITICON on campus? Oh no, that’s KENNEDY “KEN” ALAMILLA. From MANHATTAN, NEW YORK. the NINETEEN year old has come to study ART. Rumor has it she is CREATIVE and INNOVATIVE, but SENSITIVE and STUBBORN, which is why she is known as THE AVANT GARDE. She resides in ALPHA CHI OMEGA and can’t wait to graduate.

aka i watched narcos, the godfather, and euphoria and it gave me ideas

but anyway meet my new bby kennedy, but she goes by ken

she was born in new york and lived in soho, manhattan where she was raised by her mother before coming to monarch

her mother is from the phillipines and was a foreign exchange student in mexico, where she met kennedy’s dad, named miguel aiza, and began a relationship with him. but unbeknownst to her, he had mafia ties and was slowly becoming a drug lord

he kept it a secret for a couple of years, but following a run in with the police, he was arrested for drug charges in front of her. however, he was let go due to his mafia ties working in his favor *cough* bribery *cough*

when her mother found out, she initially wanted to leave but stayed out love and the two married in 1996

the two lived a luxurious and illegal lifestyle for many years, and during that time, her father became a highly feared drug lord and was responsible for a large amount of drug trafficking/trading

at his peak, her father had a net worth of $15 billion dollars that he kept mostly in cash and buried in forests and fields, so that it couldn’t be seized in bank accounts by law enforcement. this isn’t counting the money that he had stored in safe houses or his mansions

however, her father was again arrested, this time with sufficient evidence against him as the DEA and FBI had been working with mexico police on a several-year investigation against him

her father was tipped off by one of his men that the police were coming for him, so he put kennedy’s mother on a plane to new york for her safety

his mansions were raided and every member of his circle was arrested, including him

when her mother got to new york, she found out that she was pregnant with kennedy

because she was being searched for as well, her mother changed her name and assumed a new identity; now going by rose alamilla instead of her married name valeria aiza

when kennedy was born, instead of putting aiza on the birth certificate, she put alamilla

ken’s father is incarcerated still and is serving a life sentence but is eligible for parole sometime soon (because i wanna do a plot with that shh)

he was informed of her birth through a letter sent to him by her mother as well as a picture which he keeps taped to his cell wall along with others that her mother has sent over the years

he sends her letters and tries to get in contact with her but kennedy doesn’t know how to respond

kennedy is aware of her father and what he’s done, but because she’s never met him, she doesn’t have any strong feelings about him. 

$500 million of the $15 billion that was buried in the field was sent to them by her father for kennedy and her mom to live off of. an additional $350 million has been put in a trust fund for kennedy, which she’ll receive when she’s twenty one. it is currently being laundered and put into a bank account for easier access.

kennedy isn’t allowed to talk about her father or mention him. she just tells people that her father passed away when she was young

does gymnastics and cheerleading and maintains a job to not seem suspicious

she’s big into art and acting, and is an artist

her art style is reminiscent of frida kahlo

has a bunch of famous paintings on her bedroom wall

and she’s into music as well, and is in tati’s band where she plays lead guitar and her guitar style is similar to kurt cobain’s

however, she’ll most likely pursue a career in art

and because she’s crazy rich, she doesn’t have to worry about going broke or being a starving artist

but she’s really great and is super nice but also edgy ????

smokes weed and does other drugs (low key has substance abuse issues that i also want to do plots with) 

smokes herbal cigarettes because she likes the aesthetic of smoking but doesn’t want the cancer that comes with it

speaks fluent spanish

gives off the ‘big dick energy’ vibe

is 6′0″ so she towers over nearly everyone and has really long legs

she has her dad’s temper so uh try not to piss her off pls she’s patient until pushed to the limit but she also has her mom’s caring side and is super sweet

loves to party and have a good time, so she’s vice pres. of alpha chi omega but she knows when to draw the line and focus on school and excels at it so she’s really smart

i rambled a fuck ton in this, so i’m gonna end it here but if you wanna know more about her hmu!!!! also give me connections please!!!!!!

here are some plots that i want for her:

best friend

toxic relationship

friends with benefits

gym buddy

childhood friend

muse (she’ll want to draw them A LOT PLS GIMME THIS)

enemy, especially one who knows about her dad and threatens to expose her (PLS I NEED)

[californiadreaminghq]

Oh good, you made it!

Did you guys know Ky was coming? They brought Vance deLery, The Ghost! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on the checklist. The band is just getting started – you have 24 hours to send in your account! We’re so glad you’re here!

I. OUT OF THE STUDIO

NAME/ALIAS: Ky

AGE: 28

PRONOUNS: they

                                                 II. ON STAGE

NAME: Vance deLery

FACE CLAIM: Ben Barnes

AGE: 35

TITLE: The Ghost

DREAM: Somebody

OCCUPATION: Guitarist/Vocalist for Indigo Dusk

                                               III. INTERVIEW

Answer the following questions in your character’s voice:

If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?

“Make music. That’s why I’m here, that’s - it’s what I’ve been tryin’ to do all my life. Since I was old enough to know a note, man.” Not an exaggeration; his ma used to laugh, looking at all those polaroids she’d pinned up. Some beaming, black-eyed baby pawing at the keys of the piano in that schoolroom where she did her lessons. This kid perched on the bench, hand-me-down dress shirt tucked in nearly to his knees, crisp white cotton hanging off his skinny shoulders as he played his first something-like a recital. Keep going, sweetheart. Everybody’s gonna listen, you’ll see. Vance sighed, brushed his hair back. “Yeah, just - music. I want to make it, and share it with people. That’s what it’s for.”

If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?

“It’d be warm, I’ll tell you that. Can’t handle the cold. Bad for playing in.” He flexed his hands, callused - by steel strings, sure, but busting out license plates, too, nowadays. “Warm. But, like… nice, you know?” A kind of heat that wasn’t so brutally bright, so strong that it’d crush the breath from your chest. Not that thick, sticky sort of warmth he’d grown up in. “Somewhere with real beaches. Soft sand for miles… I mean, California’s great and all, but… gets crowded, man.”

What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?

“Ah… shit, give me a minute, there…” Experience made him sound like an asshole, didn’t it? Everybody was out there experiencing, all the time. Just, maybe, when it came to the sort of experience people sang about - how many of them had lived all of that? Especially these young things, coming up. Young things. Christ almighty, when did he get old? “I, uh - I’ve done this before. All of it, I’m… I’m doing it again, my second go around.” He nodded, took a deep, steadying sort of breath. “That’s the dream, at least, just… this time, I’m gonna do it my way. Like Frankie said.” Just like that.

                                               IV. BACKSTAGE

BEHIND THE MUSIC:

Vance, he could charm the birds from their trees, the girls right out of their bedroom windows - some of the guys as well, even if it was just their eyes saying so. All it took was a few chords off that beat-up guitar, a couple songs, that crooked smile. He had a certain style, and a sound, but… did he have what it took, to make it big? On his own, he might never have had the confidence to go chasing stars. But he had the boys, pulling him along in their twanging, roaring wake: fellow odd-one-outs around their little town, thick as thieves. There was the frontman, The Fortunate Son, howling himself hoarse out where he could strut his stuff and drink in the crowd. The drummer, The Peace Train - he hit things, hit ‘em at the right time, despite the metric shit-ton of weed he burned through. Their bassman, The Hard-core Troubadour, he didn’t have tricky fingers, but he had rhythm. That’d do. At least, when you had Vance handling the fancy slides and such.

They called themselves the Diamondbacks. Sounded badass, and upscale. So the argument went. Vance, he didn’t see much need to be any of that. That frontman had a way of convincing people, though. Vance, especially. Those heady summer days, passing a joint around by the river, made it real easy to see the light. Their music was good, and it was something else, part of that swell of southern rock n’ roll sound. Those songs they knocked around could be in. Just had to make sure the right people heard them.

First, the Diamondbacks had to get the hell out of Pine Bluff. As soon as possible. None of those boys had any real reason to stick around, no roots they weren’t ready to sever. Vance, he was still missing his mother, her car t-boned by a drunk the spring after she got him that third-hand Fender he lugged over to every practice. His father, he kept a closer eye on the beers in his fridge than he did on his son. But Mr. deLery made sure his boy knew how to take a punch. Did he ever. When the band finally rode off into the sunset, Vance was nursing a broken nose in the backseat - God, though, he’d never laughed so hard. Fuck the whole state. They were going to California.

Beyond there, the plan got a bit hazy. The financing, especially. None of them had much more than a crumpled pocketful of savings. That and a few bucks here and there from gigs was enough to squeak by on, but they hadn’t come all that way to squeak. They wanted to shine. That took cash, though; for new shirts, new drumsticks, the occasional haircut. And the drinking. And the dope, which flowed pretty freely in the big city. The Diamondbacks needed cash on their way to the top. As usual, that singer figured out the answer. He’d met a guy who could use some people. A real cool guy, into real cool things. Like acid, pills, heroin. Just needed a hand moving a little something, now and then, here and there. Vance didn’t like it, but. The Fortunate Son, the tightest friend he’d ever had, was telling him how they were going to save their band. So, Vance listened. It’d be okay, he got promised. It’d be better than okay.

And soon, it was. That cool guy had cool friends, as it turned out, and those cool friends had cool parties. After showing up at a few of those, the Diamondbacks were reading over a record deal, signing on the dotted line. The rest, as they say, is history. There was a promising first album, then, quickly, a record-smashing second, and a third that the radio just loved. Then, trouble. That fourth record spun apart as the band got lost in being bigshots. Vance, never as comfortable being the centre of attention as The Fortunate Son, never as incredibly high as The Peace Train, never as cool and collected as The Hardcore Troubadour, could feel himself burning away in the limelight. He drank to sleep, snorted to wake up. Started to find other things to do, in between. The pressure made him jittery, on and off the stage, and it didn’t help any that that cool friend kept calling. The guy didn’t like to hear no. Said he had strings to pull, if he had to. Going on tour was just such a swell method of distribution, and the money didn’t hurt the band any, did it? The Fortunate Son wasn’t worried. So, Vance tried not to be. He really did.

It all went to hell so fast. One day, they were on top of the fuckin’ world. Next, everybody was going down for possession, intent to distribute. Everybody, or somebody. So said the lawyer The Fortunate Son’s panicked parents had called in. They wanted to make an example, here. One would do. A sacrifice, for the rest of the band, but. With good behaviour, out in no time. Vance would do it. Right? Vance could give the judge those big doe eyes, get off easy. A nice cushy stint in county. It’d be nothing, and the rest of them, they’d fix up that album and keep going, for his sake. Then he’d be back, soon, and… The Fortunate Son, he was half-hysterical. All Vance could say was yes. For his best friend, for the band. It’d be nothing.

Only, that lawyer wasn’t so good as he figured he was. Vance was thrown a dime and a half in San Quentin, a week shy of his twenty-second birthday. Example made.

The band visited, for a while. Prison wasn’t kind, but Vance, he’d grown up keeping his head down. Withdrawal didn’t make it easier. Neither did the visits, honestly. Watching the band break down, from the outside - that stung. That was his life, what he took this long, long fall for. Gone. The days blurred together, a smear of grey concrete, grey food, grey sheets, and the odd, red burst of blood. He watched his hands, playing his way through old songs every night, tapping his fingers on nothing. Listened to the radio, when they allowed - catching the chords, guessing at the picking patterns. All he had to do was stick it out, survive. There’d be music on the other side.

Turns out that all his good, good behaviour would count for something - a few reductions, then, parole. After he hitch-hiked his way to Los Angeles, Vance started strumming along the boardwalks and street corners to make ends meet. He’d lost a decade, of playing, of living; rusty, roughed up, and altogether alone in the world, he had nowhere to go and nobody to see there. Didn’t even have that old Fender. But he could clean himself up and slip into bars and music stores, pick up a guitar, and earn a few coins. Just a week shy of his last pointless parole meeting, he was pulled aside for a proposal. A band, not just some crew of up and comers but a big deal, needed a guitarist, a singer. A replacement. Maybe they weren’t his style, but - could he do it? For the money to keep himself clean, sure. They didn’t seem to have caught on to that criminal record, but that was years ago; the Diamondbacks, and the scandal that snapped them apart, were just about forgotten. All the better for Vance. For the past two years he’s been doing what Indigo Dusk pays him to do, and not much more. This isn’t his band. It’s not his music. He bears them no ill will - he’s grateful, of course, for the chance - but he doesn’t feel at home with them, doesn’t get too personal. Vance is well aware he’s just filling a space onstage, and if he’s honest with himself, he’s not playing his best for them. But, very, very quietly, over the last few months or so, he’s started to slip out to open mic nights around Los Angeles. Nothing too big. Doesn’t want to trouble that contract, obviously… but he can feel it, the quaking in the foundation of this band he’s hitched himself to. They’re going the same way The Diamondbacks did, or something like it, anyway. And that asides, he misses making music that felt like his. Maybe The Diamondbacks weren’t that, either. But he’s out looking for his own sound, now, and if the audiences are any indication, he’s starting to find it…

                                                   V. ENCORE

Let’s start with a PINTEREST! https://www.pinterest.ca/jraphicpark/vance/

HEADCANON time!

Vance got his musical talent, and then some, from his mother - a music teacher. She realized early that her boy had spectacular pitch, listening to him plink along with radio tunes on her piano. He can do more than that now, but hasn’t let the rest of Indigo Dusk in on the fact. They’ve got somebody on the keys, don’t need him. And it hurts to play, in some ways. Piano was his mom’s music, her sound, and it brings back a hell of a lot of memories. 

He can also pick something pretty out on the banjo, and knows his way around a classic diatonic harmonica. Picked that one up in prison; being able to keep folks entertained has always served Vance well, even in his worst days. 

At this point, he’s mostly playing covers for the cafe and bar crowds; but Vance is slowly, surely, starting to throw in a tune or two of his own. It’s not just his sound that’s drawing people in, either. When he warms up, past a certain natural shyness, Vance has this unpretentious, genuine way about him, a self-deprecating kind of humour that sneaks in between songs. It keeps them listening, even if his music isn’t perhaps the kind of thing that’s hitting it big on the airwaves these days.

Though nobody was throwing those words around in 1973, Vance is what we’d call dyslexic and dysgraphic - meaning, very broadly, that he struggles to read and write. It’s not something he has an explanation for, and the ones given to him by teachers and schoolmates weren’t kind. He’s been treated like he’s not terribly smart, or like he’s lazy, or both, since he was a kid. Neither’s true, but he’s still sensitive about it, and tries to hide this fact as much as possible. People already tend to judge him quickly thanks to the backwoodsy accent. It’s not fair, but Vance knows the world isn’t like that. So he just gets on by, as best he can.

And then, obviously, a PLAYLIST! I’ll just list the songs, because I don’t have a proper Spotify set up (shocking, I know). Hope it’s okay that some of these are modern. Vance typically played electric with the Diamondbacks, in their more rock n’ roll style (think CCR, Lynyrd Skynyrd); left to his own devices, he prefers an acoustic sound heavy on the finger-picking. He’s got a genuine gift for that kind of playing, very much a van Zandt kind of talent. His voice, usually background to The Fortunate Son’s in the Diamondback days, actually has a decent range - soft highs to a bit of old country growl.

Highway Kind - Townes van Zandt Little Boy - Barns Courtney

Feel Alright - Steve Earle

Built to Roam - Shakey Graves

Leaving On A Jet Plane - John Denver

Deep Dark Wells - Joe Pug

Folsom Prison Blues - Johnny Cash

My Poor Heart - The Glorious Sons

Satan and St. Paul - John Fullbright I’m Not a Saint - Billy Raffoul

Wasteland - X Ambassadors

Tearing At the Seams - Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats

And I Love You So - Don McLean

Everything Is Alright - The Glorious Sons

Unknown Legend - Shakey Graves

Bright Beginnings - Joe Pug

Lungs - Townes van Zandt

Don’t Take Your Guns to Town - Johnny Cash

History - X Ambassadors

Take Me Home, Country Roads - John Denver

Unlucky Skin - Shakey Graves

Meet Me in the Alleyway - Steve Earle

Panic Attack - The Glorious Sons

American Pie - Don McLean

Still Trying - Nathaniel Rateliff

And for a few more things, here’s some tidbits about the (ex)band, so far as wanted connections might go! Names and Titles are flexible. Faceclaims would be totally up to player, probably in the 32-37 age range.  

THE FORTUNATE SON

The oddest one out, back in Pine Bluff and the band, this character grew up as the spoiled and rebellious child of the biggest bigwigs that little town had to offer. Maybe he’s a Somebody, a country crooner or a real rockstar. Maybe he’s become a Power, staring down the kind of up and comer he used to be across a nice, expensive desk. Is he happy, now? Was it worth it? Who’s to say.

THE PEACE TRAIN

The roving spirit of the bunch, the real hippie, off in la-la land, ready to fire up a fat one the moment they left the stage. You could say that for this character - he loved the music, and couldn’t stand to see it compromised. He was a cheerleader, always ready to shove the rest of the band back on their feet and get the show on the road, eternally the sunny, can-do optimist. The weed probably helped with that, but still. Vance wound up moving plenty of product for him alone, back in the day. Now? Who knows he’s up to.

THE HARD-CORE TROUBADOUR

Once the bassist of The Diamondbacks, this character was always a hard-headed, take-no-shit sonofabitch. But he got shit done. While The Fortunate Son dreamed big and tried to smile and schmooze his way to what he wanted, The Hard-core Troubadour put in the thinking and paperwork that made stuff happen. He spent much of the friendship - and the band - frustrated. Vance was often the one who had to try and gentle things out between people, usually this stubborn bastard and their bombastic, self-righteous frontman. He might have moved on to another band, but it’s just as likely that he left music behind for managing or mixing at one of the labels.

[penniesforthestorm]

“You pick the devil you run with”: Justified Season Two, Episodes 8-10

The three episodes discussed below are some of the tightest of Justified’s entire run, braiding together the threads running through the season thus far. All of my recaps can be found in the tag ‘#did you miss my heart on purpose’ on my blog, but earlier posts for this season can be found by clicking through: premiere, Episodes 2-4, Episodes 5-7. We’ll get to business after the cut:

Episode Eight: “The Spoil”

-Boyd and Dickie Bennett cross paths, and we get a clearer idea of Black Pike’s current interest in Harlan-- buying up local properties for a new mine.

-Art finds Raylan drunk at a local batting cage, and informs him that he’ll be accompanying Carol Johnson to the upcoming town-hall meeting. Back at the motel, Raylan says to Winona: “He knows”-- about the money from the evidence room.

-First appearance of Bennett (as in, town of) policeman Nick Mooney (William Gregory Lee), busting Boyd for a ‘broken tail-light’, at the behest of Doyle Bennett.

-Carol and a very hungover Raylan drive to bail Boyd out of jail. As Carol trades jabs with Doyle, Raylan mutters, “Y’all deserve each other.” A gleeful Boyd teases Raylan about being on the ‘same side’ of a fight, and Raylan retorts, “The only thing we’re on the same side of is, like, this car.”

-Carol drags Raylan to visit Mags’ store-- “It’s hard to be a strong woman,” Mags says, dripping with condescension. Coover and Raylan tangle for a few minutes, until Mags stops the fight by rapping Coover in the head with a shovel. This is not Raylan’s morning.

-As Carol prepares for the meeting, Raylan details the Bennett-Givens feud, which began during Prohibition. We learn the story behind Dickie Bennett’s limp-- he and Raylan fought after a high-school baseball game, and Raylan hit him with a bat.

-Meanwhile, Boyd Crowder sits down with Helen and Arlo Givens, asking them to sign over some property to the mining company. Neither one believes he has no personal interest in the transaction.

-At the town hall meeting, a series of speeches are made: first Carol, with some jargon about how coal is God’s gift to Harlan County. She tries to use Raylan as a prop, but this time, he doesn’t play ball. Boyd steps up to the plate with his usual alacrity, but Mags puts all of them to shame, calling on Harlan’s distrust of outsiders-- this life is theirs; who has the right to tell them how to live it? To that end, not only is she offering favorable rates on the land rights, but everybody’s invited to the Bennetts’ for a get-together. “Especially you, Ms. Johnson,” she simpers.

-Boyd goes to Ava’s, only to find Dickie and Coover Bennett lurking there, along with some sort of critter in a bag, which Coover refers to as ‘Charlie’. Ava bursts in and shoots ‘Charlie’, and the Bennett boys flee into the night.

-Next morning, Raylan and Carol stop off at Arlo and Helen’s. Helen reminds Raylan that she was the one who enabled him to leave Harlan in the first place, and offers the remainder of the $20,000 that Arlo hid from the marshals if Raylan will agree to leave the Bennetts alone. Shots ring out across the property, and Arlo ends up with a bullet to the leg.

-Over at Ava’s, Boyd explains that he knows what Mags is up to, and asks Ava to put on ‘something pretty’.

Episode Nine: “Brother’s Keeper”

-Mags helps Loretta prepare for the party, crowning her with a jeweled comb that belonged to Mags’ grandmother. When Coover blunders in, she shoos him out, and from the other side of the door, he hears her tell Loretta that she has “no excuse” for the way he turned out.

-Boyd arrives with a nervous Ava in tow, seeking a word with Mags. Raylan squires Carol Johnson, whose confidence has been shaking since the shooting at the Givens house. A local named Curtis, who seems plumb-full of liquid courage, makes increasingly aggressive advances on Carol, but when Raylan retaliates, Dickie Bennett steps in to keep the peace.

-Carol, Boyd, and Mags finally sit down together, and Boyd is content to let the fur fly for a while. Outside, Dickie tries to join the fun, only to be forcibly stopped by Raylan.

-Finally, the cards are laid out: Boyd persuaded Arlo and Helen to sign their property rights to him, not to Black Pike as he’d been instructed. Mags has bought up the rest not for their potential coal yield, as Carol assumed, but because they align with the new road Black Pike would build to carry its loads down. Without those, the company would simply write the new project up as a loss and move on-- Carol was only a pawn. Talk about a rug-pull.

-With Carol out of the room, Mags and Boyd make a further agreement-- Boyd’s enterprises will go undisturbed by the Bennetts, as long as he stays out of the marijuana trade. Jubilant, Boyd goes to find Ava, and squires her onto the dancefloor.

-As the party wraps up, Mags sends Loretta to help Coover. As the two of them haul away the empty kegs, Loretta notices that Coover is wearing Walt’s watch.

-Some time later, Loretta shows up at Coover’s door, offering him a joint. He lets her in, lights up, and after a while, he seems to pass out. Loretta searches the place, finally finding the watch in a bureau drawer. She calls Raylan in tears, but Coover stumbles in. All his immature resentment comes out as he throws her into the living room. Dickie tries to talk him down, but Coover attacks him. Loretta has just enough time to run out the front door.

-Raylan drops Carol off and goes to rescue Loretta, stopping in to interrogate Dickie, who sends him to the mine shaft where he and Coover dumped Walt’s body. Raylan finds Loretta and manages to shoot Coover, sending him into the dark.

-Doyle wakes up Mags, and as morning dawns, she gets two blows: one, her youngest son is dead, and two, the ‘daughter’ she adopted will be placed in foster care.

Episode Ten: “Debts and Accounts”

-At the marshals’ office, Art and Raylan have a pained conversation: Art won’t punish Raylan in the short term for his role in Winona’s evidence-locker shenanigans, but it appears Art and Raylan’s friendship has taken a serious blow.

-Mags and Helen meet at a diner, and we discover that the two of them have sustained a twenty-year truce between their families. Mags agrees not to pursue Raylan for his role in Coover’s death, sustaining the peace.

-Boyd informs Ava that he’s leaving, saying he doesn’t want her involved in the next stage of his plans. Raylan gives Winona a ride to her lawyer’s office, and en route, she tells him about her plans to divorce Gary. Raylan is spooked by a suspicious sliver Cadillac following them too closely.

-Loretta is reluctant to stay at her new foster home, and she and Raylan have a frank discussion. “I ain’t a kid,” she tells him, and he sees another echo of his younger self in this person who’s had to grow up far too soon.

-The remaining Bennetts have a family conference: Mags tells Dickie he can take the weed business, as long as he leaves Raylan alone, and she blames him for not controlling Coover. Doyle further explains Mags’ prior agreement with Boyd.

-Boyd visits his Cousin Johnny-- last seen bleeding on Ava’s porch in “Bulletville”, and still in a wheelchair. I’m particularly fond of this exchange, after Johnny shows that he can stand up to get another beer from the fridge:          Johnny: Did you think you think you performed a miracle on me, Boyd?          Boyd: I don’t believe in miracles anymore.         Johnny: Well, that’s something at least. Boyd makes the case that Johnny knew more about Bo’s dealings than almost anyone, and anyway, he’s a Crowder. Evidently, wild hair is a family trait.

-Dickie makes an alliance of his own-- Jed Berwind, who’s considerably less skeptical. He assures Dickie that he’ll do whatever he needs to.

-Boyd and Johnny raid a private poker game-- one of the players is Boyd’s old associate Devil, shorn of the unfortunate muttonchops he had in “Fire in the Hole”. Devil flips quickly enough, grabbing the cash as he departs.

-Winona and Raylan discuss her divorce from Gary, and what it might mean for them. Raylan professes his love, and makes her an offer: they could return to the training school down in Glynco. Winona says she’ll think about it.

-Devil, Boyd, and Johnny are discussing business over burgers when Dickie Bennett saunters by. He informs Boyd that any deal he made with Mags is off. Boyd stays quiet, but Devil and Johnny each take a few jabs at Dickie. Before he leaves, Dickie picks up a French fry from Devil’s plate, delicately bites off the end, and tosses it into Devil’s White Russian.

-Raylan and Winona, driving home and joking about Neil Young, find themselves under fire from the goons in the silver Cadillac. They run into a nearby warehouse and manage to evade their pursuers, and Winona agrees to Raylan’s earlier suggestion.

-Boyd pulls up to Ava’s for a last look, and she catches him. In a fulfillment of their long-simmering tension, they kiss.

[deadmantalking117]

ONE OF "THOSE" PEOPLE

I'm on Social Security Disability. S.S.I. Medicare. Have been a long time. I'm putting that right out front because what I've learned in the past 35 years is this... Most of Americans haven't got the first clue what that means or what's involved. The staggering amount of misinformation going around out there is truly impressive. So today my diseased maniacs we're going to cover some of that misinformation. Maybe clear up a couple things. This is going to a longer one. Everyone stay frosty! PEOPLE ON DISABILITY ARE SCAMMERS WHO ONLY WANT A FREE RIDE FROM US REAL TAXPAYERS! I've refered to the disability system as ThunderDome. There is nothing easy about it. It's an ordeal like no other. No job I've ever heard of can match the unbridled carnage of working through the disability system! To begin with... you don't just decide.. "I don't feel like working anymore!" Only a doctor can decide that.. several of them actually. Plus a bunch of government types. People hear about disability scammers and think that some lazy dude is sitting around.. drinking beer.. collecting his checks. The real scammers are anything but lazy.. they are usually doctors actually.. and they work their asses off! The people they use are usually ignorant dupes. Getting on disability is so daunting it discourages lazy people from getting it. Even when they really need it. I've known several people who were genuinely sick or injured. But they just gave up because it was too overwhelming. There was a really popular article going around facebook about these people who got disability so they could get free money from some other agency which got them more money from this place..which got them even more money from that place. It was like 10 different money grabs and they were living in a mansion raking in over a quarter million a year. Plus food stamps. These things dont exsist. While some of the programs might exsist. Having one cancels the possibility of getting some others.. there are different agencies that have their own programs.. but unless they were using multiple IDs.. I highly doubt it. And after i show you next, the ordeal to just get started.. you should doubt it too. But if they were able to pull this off.. they worked their butts off for it! I'm not saying it right.. but it's impressive. Years ago I worked for an electronics store. We had VCRs hooked together to copy tapes. A guy came in a couple times to make a copy of surveillance tapes he'd made. He was an investigator for the government.. he followed people who'd been "injured" and tape them. I personally watched 12 different cases of fraud. My favorite was the really hot girl he videoed hobbling out of the court house on crutches. With a neck brace. Cut to the very next day.. in a bikini.. doing actual cartwheels on the beach. He had a dozen more. My point is. Of course there are always going to be lazy people who want to take advantage. But its really not that simple. And not as many people get away with it as you might think. YOU'RE THINKING.. HEY, DISABILITY STILL SOUNDS LIKE THE BEST DEAL EVER! WHERE DO I SIGN UP? You get sick or injured You have to be permanently sick or injured.. Meaning you're never going to get better. If there's any chance you'll get better.. You're out Next you're doctor has to decide that you're not ever going to recover..that usually takes a few years.. hundreds of tests.. thousands of dollars. If he doesn't think you're disabled.. You're out Now the fun part. You apply for disability . Send off for your forms and applications. With your doctor's blessing you gather up all your medical records from all of your doctors. And oh yeah.. if you only need 1 or 2 doctors.. You're probably out. When I started applying.. I had 3 file boxes with records.. just the past 2 or 3 years. I imagine that's a bit different today.. computer records weren't around then. But if you do apply.. You'll still need lots of your medical information at your fingertips. You get your first official government envelopes. Actually big stuffed things with information pamphlets and more forms than you've ever seen. Massive amounts of new information that you have to learn. More about forms later... Be sure to read and fill out EVERY line.. every space. Write neatly. Spell check. If theres any confusion on any questions... Or any missing info. They can't read or understand what you're writting..You're out. Start over again. Somehow you've done it.. all your forms are filled out neatly and correctly.. you've provided tons of proof about your illness.. you've provided them with every single scrap of financial information about you since you were born. You have your doctors blessing.. all 3 of them in fact! They now know everything there is to know about you.. seriously.. EVERYTHING . Those forms are extremely comprehensive. No one disputes your claim.. everyone agrees.. you are disabled. You get your reply after maybe 90 days DISABILITY DECLINED Because of course! Everyone gets turned down the first time.. or two. It's kinda built into the system.. by turning down everyone at first.. it weeds out the scammers! Remember that lazy beer drinking scammer.. he's done with this shit. He just spent the past couple months working his butt off for NOTHING! But not you.. You're not faking it.. you are seriously sick. You can barely get out of bed some days. And you have a family to take care of. So.. You file an appeal.. and you have 90 days to start that.. so get to it! You send in your appeal application and sometime in the next 90 days or so. More giant envelopes arrive with more forms. And more information to absorb. But whats funny? A lot of these forms have the exact same information as the forms you've already filled out! They already have all this information.. remember that after the first round.. they know everything there is to know about you.. but ok fine.. we'll tell the tale again. And you submit your appeal.. this time it's a bit easier.. but still time consuming.. and don't forget how sick you still are. This is it! You get your official government envelope. APPEAL DENIED You look at your 3 boxes of files. Your two file folders for your copies of the applications and the appeal.. plus the separate file for all your current financial info. All your financial info has to be current. Every utility bill.. bank statements.. credit cards.. receipts.. you have to prove where every dime goes and it must be up to the minute. You just wanna go have a beer with lazy scammer guy now. But cant do that! You got a family to take care of.. and you've barely been able to work at all the past couple years. Besides.. now you're kinda pissed. No one disputes that you should be on disability.. except apparently uncle Sam. Time to get a T.V. lawyer! Disability lawyers serve a useful function to the system. Their job is to review all of your information and get it up to government specs. When you hire a disability lawyer they don't charge you to take your case. They'll only take you if they're sure you're actually disabled. That's because they only get paid if you win your new appeal. The good part about applying for disability is that everything starts from the date of your first application. Meaning, once you do get approved.. you usually have a couple years of back pay coming. The lawyers get a quarter or third of that first check. You get say ten thousand dollars.. they get three of that. It's actually a good deal for both of you. The lawyer doesn't have to do much. You've already done every bit of the work for them. They review it all. Make sure you dotted your T's and crossed your I's. Then pretty it up and file for round 3. It's a good deal for you.. because if a lawyer does take your case on contingency.. You're probably going to get approved (eventually) The hearing before a disability judge. You meet your lawyer again at whatever government building your hearing is being held in. And she leads you into a conference room. You chat for about a half hour or so before the hearing starts so she can review your testimony. You're going to have to to convince a judge that you're sick.. not just with your boxes of files.. show him what that means for you. My lawyer told me.. if you feel like you have to have a bowel movement. Or you get nauseous during the hearing.. be sure to ask the judge for a break. These hearings are stressful on people. Especially people with Crohns. So dont hesitate to ask for a break. ( ok.. I thought.. thats aweful considerate.. but I'm fine right now) The she took my hand and looked me in the eyes. Speaking very slowly and deliberately she says again...You need to be sure to ask for a break if you feel any need to go to the bathroom at all. Understand? ( aaahhh.. ok got it ! Wink,wink, nudge, nudge, say no more!) The hearing last less than an hour or so. The lawyer and the judge review some legalese. Most of what they're talking about is gibberish to me. After a half hour.. I asked to be excused to go to the bathroom. I actually did have pee a little. But afterwards while we're walking out she smiles at me and says.. that went well. Finally after almost 2 years I got approved! But thats only the start of the real work. Now I'm officially one of "those" people. A drain on society.. a sponge.. a parasite. At least now I can be sure that I have a few hundred bucks coming in each month. I still work part time.. You're allowed to make less than a thousand dollars per month in income when you go on disability.. so the very most I can bring in between my S.S.I. and whatever I can still earn is maybe 20,000 dollars per year. This is what they mean by living in a fixed income. We're livin large now baby! But the more important issue is.. I have some kind of insurance finally! But theres so much more in store for you. YOU'VE DONE IT.. YOU'RE ON DISABILITY. THE CASH IS ROLLING IN AND THE DOCTORS ARE GETTING PAID. IT'S MILLER TIME! RIGHT? Not quite. Over and over you'll get envelopes from good ole Baltimore Maryland. Home of the social security administration. They need this.. or they don't have their copy of that. Random letters with some new form. The thing about government forms is.. their meaning isnt always clear. They seem a little convoluted sometimes. "Add the total of lines 17b to lines 17c and 17h. But only if it is in direct opposition to the tertiary algorithm from form 3768-d. You may need to reference your proprietary issuance schedule to access the proper formula to make this claim. (U.S. Government Form 6009)." I don't know how they could make that any clearer.. I'm just saying.. I'm not really that smart. Which one was line 17b again? Regular updates on your income from the local offices. Gotta bring copies of all your newest bills.. and oh yeah.. that 3000 in stocks you saved from your last job? That's gotta go!. You can generate income from stock ownership.. You're not allowed too much income remember? And we need to double check every bank accout you have.. verify that you dont have a dime. The guy who checks under your mattresses will be out sometime on Tuesday. Then of course the reviews. Occasionally they'll want to have you checked out by their people to make sure you didn't accidentally get better. Now, because my disease has been well documented for 35 years and it's incurable. I've only had 2 reviews. The first one after a couple years. He just reviewed my charts. And signed off. No exam .. no tests. Barely said a word. My last one was about 3 years ago. He was awesome. We went into his office and just made fun of the system. He couldn't believe I was there. He gets paid by the government to check the patients the computer sends to him. He said.. "I get a few people in per week that have incurable diseases.. what do they think is going to happen? I'm going to say wow! His intestines grew back.. he's all better now!" He said he did get some questionable patients. They get completely retested for whatever they supposedly had. But the vast majority were legit. We had to spend a half hour together for the interview and records review.. we talked about movies for 25 of those minutes. One more thing. Never change your job. It confuses everything. "You mean.. You're working less hours at a more convenient job. And you still aren't making over $1000 .. right? We'll need to see all your financial info since 1954. " But I wasnt even born til 59! "Oh.. in that case.. we'll need your 6472-g25 Waiver issuance request. For amortization of residual issuances notwithstanding any prior findings of such issuances. (U.S. Government form 77684)" OOPS ! I DID IT AGAIN - I THINK I MIGHT HAVE SCREWED SOMETHING UP. usually with all the forms flying back and forth. The government is actually quite reasonable about you handing in your homework. On most forms and information requests. You get like 30 days for this or 90 days to reply to that. But always more than enough time. If you do screw up something, you get a warning shot.. but honestly I wouldn't push it.. Keep up with your paperwork.. be timely. Once there's a problem. It takes time to iron it out. You may not be getting paid while you do. Years ago.. we had moved to a new place in the same town. My checks have always been direct deposit. So I never thought to file with social security.. stuff got forwarded automatically anyway. But one month. My account is empty. And I call to ask why. They've temporarily suspended my check until they could investigate potential fraud. Right after we moved. The very next month actually. The street we used to live on got it's name changed! We had lived at 133 main st.. but now there was no such place. I could prove that I was in fact living now at 768 elm st. But the previous 5 years? How could you have been living at 133 main when there's no such place? So I had to go down to the local office and explain that 133 main st. Is still there... it's just called 133 terrace ave now. I offered to drive the guy over and show him the house. But he was familiar with the situation already and was actually able to get into the system and fix it. Next month I got 2 checks. A DEAD MAN'S REVIEW OF THE SYSTEM The Social Security system is actually as far as I've seen and in my vast experience . Not all that bad. It's kind of an unwieldy beast. And I'm sure there are many areas that could be improved upon.. but there's a lot to say good about it. After a couple years of grinding persistence. I got in. No one ever for a second denied that I was disabled.. like I said. It's just how it works. Once you're in.. there's still work to be done.. lots of it. But you can deal with that. For doing your homework on time. You get a check on the third of every month. Without fail. I have direct deposit. I cannot recommend it highly enough. Your check goes in promptly on the 3rd. And in months where the 3rd is a weekend or holiday, you get it earlier. In the bank. No waiting for the mailman. Medicare takes care of your doctors. So you don't have to stress over all that. They keep all your records. I just go to my appointments. Or the ER. Or hospital. The doctors know what Medicare covers. Medicare takes care of the bills. Better than any insurance.. I don't have to stay in network. No pre approvals. No deductibles. Usually no copays. Insurance companies are a horror to deal with. And they can say no anytime they want.. it's their job to deny coverage. I've never been denied treatment, ever. When I had heart issues out of the blue last year. I got wheeled through a battery of tests. Never saw a bill. I get statements from Baltimore that say on the envelopes NOT A BILL. I'm sure there are many things that require some discussion. But all the regular stuff is covered. Prescriptions are usually a dollar or two. Government employees.. contrary to popular belief.. are usually efficient and helpful. The vast majority of people that work for the administration are quite good at their jobs. There are people who suck at their jobs.. in every job. Even doctors! ( Dr Pencil Mustache) but the main issue with employees at social security offices is. There are so many claimants and so many rules.. and so much paperwork. Bring a book! Usually they're quick getting you in and out. Say.. better than the DMV. Not as quick as the post office. But then the post office doesnt have to deal with "form HG563-d/5 special dispensation for administrative assessment facilitates as they pertain to cost distribution for the amortizing schedules for the year 2018. (Reorder form 7887)" so they got it pretty easy over there. Being one of "THOSE" people used to bother me a lot. Being a welfare parasite, feeding off the teats of good hardworking folks... It's embarrassing for people to know. And the reaction from some people is scary. Most people understand that - I didn't do anything wrong. They're glad we live in a country where we try to look out for each other. And everyone agrees that things could certainly be improved upon. But some people are cruel. It would be better if I just threw myself onto a funeral pyre and saved the taxpayers some money. But the thing is.. I'm a taxpayer too.. for over 40 years.. and I really enjoy irritating assholes. So.... Dead Man Talking!

[rowanstories-blog]

Something Beautiful

The TV's murmur filled the room as Ronald Swint, known to others by names like Ron, Daddy, Asshole, and That Guy from the Street Corner, fiddled with a scratched and mildly broken smartphone. More like a dumb phone, Ron thought as he checked to see whether the shattered corner of the screen could still detect his touch. He never understood the appeal of a phone that was easier to break and harder to use than one with twelve buttons and a speaker. He didn't grumble too much about that, though; someone would put a lot of value on what he thought of as literal garbage. The saying 'one man's trash is another's treasure' couldn't have rang more true.

"Daddy!" The shout came through the open window, repeating as it moved closer to the front door.

Ron looked up from the phone as the door swung open and a young child, his only son, rushed into the room, grinning from ear to ear.

"Daddy, I sold so much lemonade! Look at how full my bag is!" He shook a small felt bag with unhindered enthusiasm, temporarily drowning out the TV's mumble with the sound of clattering coins.

Ron slid the phone back into his pocket, careful to not let the cracked side rip his pants any more than they already were, and took the coin bag from his son. "You're right, this is so heavy. Must have sold a lot." He forced a smile. "I'm gonna go in the kitchen and count this up for you, so you know how much you made."

"Can I help this time? Miss Evergreen says I'm a good counter."

"I'll let you count once I check it first, okay?"

His son grumbled a bit, but didn't continue his protest. His attention turned to the TV, now showing a commercial for a movie filled with explosions and cars. The rapid lights and scene changes put the child into a wordless trance, and he seated himself on the floor against the couch, fully invested in the flickering screen.

With a deep breath and a strong heave, Ron forced himself off the sagging couch, feeling several limbs crack in the process. As he walked toward the nearby kitchen, he felt his bones sag with the pull of gravity, reminding him with each step just how badly his body reacted to the passage of time. He did have one thing going for him, though; he didn't have any scraggly white hairs growing like weeds on his head. His early onset baldness had made sure of that.

With a swing of his arm that he thought looked like a no-funny-business mobster, but in reality looked more like the flail of an inflatable tube man dancing in front of a gas station, he knocked a pile of beer cans off a section of the table, sending them clattering across a floor that hadn't been swept in the better part of a decade. He poured out the coins from the felt bag and began counting the cents. After the first few coins he realized he'd need some mental energy to continue, so he grabbed a few of the remaining beer cans from the table until he felt one with liquid still inside. He took a sip with each coin he counted, a room-temperature and slightly stale reward for such a tedious task.

"That's three bucks, that's three fifty," he mumbled as he sorted the coins. "Ugh, who pays for lemonade with dimes and pennies? And this- what, an arcade token, seriously?"

He grabbed the gold-looking coin from the pile and gave it a closer look. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a reworking of an old golden dollar. but some things were off about it. For one thing, the face on the front wasn't Lady Liberty, or anyone recognizable, for that matter. It looked like a face rendered from what his son could draw; the eye was a bit too far from the front, the nose a bit too large and pointed, the mouth extended too far across the cheek. From its features he couldn't even tell if it was meant to depict a man or woman. The stars around the face, or what were supposed to be stars on the regular golden dollar, were instead various types of music notes. On the back he saw the recognizable laurel wreath, but where he expected to find the words "United States of America" and "One Dollar," he instead saw only symbols and glyphs that looked nothing like letters he recognized. He rubbed his thumb across the material as he held it in his fingers, assuming it to be some kind of plastic. To his surprise, it felt just like a real coin.

"Damn immigrants, bringing their freaky rip-off money here," he grumbled, flicking the odd coin back into his son's bag.

Once he determined that his son's labor had brought in exactly $21.47, he began putting coins back into the bag. Not every coin, of course. For each coin he put away, he moved two to the side, under the old newspaper just in arm's reach.

"All done," Ron called as he returned to the living room, seeing his son still glued to the TV. "There's $6.34 in here, and it's all yours."

His son's attention snapped away from the mumbling box and he ran up to his dad, grabbing the bag. "$6.34? Wow, that's like five candy bars!"

"That it is. Now go clean up the front yard, your mom will be here soon." Ron tried not to wince as he brought up his ex-wife.

His son nodded enthusiastically and ran out the front door, using more energy in a moment than Ron had stored for the entire day. He let himself fall onto the couch, resuming his investigation of his sidewalk phone find.

Several minutes later, he heard a sound all too familiar to him: the sputter and stop of an older pickup truck in his driveway. Through the open window he heard his ex-wife and ex-father-in-law speaking with his son, cooing over how good the lemonade stand looked and what a good businessman he was finding something to sell. Ron rolled his eyes. Tacking a sign to a tree and making lemonade on an old refrigerator box wasn't something to be impressed by; it was the oldest way for kids to make money in the book.

"Ron?" he heard his ex-father-in-law call. "We're picking up Max." No reply. "You awake in there? It's only 4pm, don't tell me you're already out for the day."

Ron scoffed. "I'm awake, old man. Do what you like."

He could hear his ex-wife speaking hushed frustrations with his ex-father-in-law, but he focused on fiddling with the phone until he heard the old pickup's engine sputter and groan as they drove away.

Once he was sure they had left, he got up from the couch and returned to the kitchen, dumping the hidden coins into his pocket. There hadn't been need to hide them this time since they hadn't come inside or had him stand up, but it was better to be safe than risk them hearing the clatter of coins in his pocket and try to pick yet another fight.

---

"Three cases of beer? Why not two, you only got two hands." The cashier chuckled with a polite smile.

Despite her trying to package it as a joke, Ron knew she meant that as a serious observation of his buying habits. He didn't often come in for buying on a Wednesday afternoon when she worked, but he didn't doubt for a second that the cashiers all spoke to each other about the regulars in the liquor store, especially those who also spent some time on the streets around it.

He long ago lost the anger he used to feel from being judged by such people, but that didn't mean he had the patience to put up with their 'jokes.' "So how much is it?"

Her smile momentarily fell into what he assumed was disappointment, but returned just as quickly. "That's $14.96. Cash or card?"

"Cash," he mumbled as he tossed the coins from his pocket onto the checkout counter. He could see the cashier's eyes gloss over in frustration, but her job required her to say nothing to him, which he very much liked. He let her count up the scattered change, watching to make sure she did it correctly, until all was accounted for.

"Have a nice day," she said, wishing for the exact opposite.

He grabbed up his change, glancing down at his hand. Something felt missing, though he knew she hadn't made a mistake with the math. He shook his hand a bit, checking to see if that would help him feel better. It didn't.

He grabbed the beers and quickly made his way out of the store. The feeling of something missing still gnawed at him, but it was nothing a nice drink wouldn't fix.

---

Ron collapsed into his bed, letting the empty beer can in his hand fall wherever the laws of physics sent it. The clock on his desk lit the room with a bright 1:56AM. The red numbers hurt his eyes to look at, so he closed them, trying not to succumb to the feeling of the room spinning around him.

The drinking had not, as he thought, filled the increasingly noticeable feeling that something was missing from his person. With every drink the feeling seemed to grow, and he kept checking his pockets: keys, phone (the 'smart' one he planned to sell), phone (the one he owned that actually made sense), wallet, change, receipts. He looked through the receipts in case one had become separated somehow. He even looked around the house in case something was off. He didn't clean, since that would be far too much effort for a drunk man, but he did move the mess around a bit, checking to make sure his few belongings of mild value remained in their spots. They did.

He gave a big sigh into his bed, blowing some crumbs and hairs on his sheets into the darkness. Perhaps, he considered, it was simply one of those days. Sleep would help the feeling pass.

As his body relaxed for sleep, he felt a weight between his fingers. Something small, cold, with a bit of texture. He rubbed his thumb on it. He felt a warmth in his chest well up, spreading slowly through his veins to his aching joints. The dull pain he always felt washed away with the warmth. It had been so long since he felt so at ease; even drinking couldn't compare to such calm and warmth. He felt his mind drifting further and further from his body, until he fell fully asleep.

---

When Ron awoke, all the pain and aches he came to expect from waking up, especially after a night of drinking, hit him without mercy. He got up and mindlessly began his morning routine, grabbing a beer from the table nearby to take the edge of his hangover off. When he grabbed it, his hand jolted with pain, and he dropped the can.

He looked down at his fingers, and through the haze of his half-conscious mind, he realized that the tips of his first two fingers and thumb were a bright red, the skin rubbed raw. As he looked, he felt the distant memory of a warmness in his dreams, but his mind refused to be any more clear than that.

He shrugged it off as yet another drunken injury, picked up the can with his opposite hand, and continued his routine, doing his best to ignore the nagging feeling of something missing, something empty, from the day before, and the new feeling of something forgotten from his sleep.

Several hours later, Ron ambled outside of the nearby tavern, waiting for happy hour to begin. His success at selling the phone he found on the sidewalk deserved a little bit of celebration, he thought with a smile. He could spare to use a few extra dollars on some good hard liquor before returning to his beer stash at home.

Some of his street friends watched him, coming up to ask what the occasion for going to the tavern was. Some asked if something special happened with his son, like getting into a sports league or winning a spelling be. He wouldn't answer, pretending to put on an air of mystery. In all truth, he had no idea if his son had done anything of note for quite some time. That wasn't their relationship, and he was perfectly okay with that. His son didn't seem to mind, so why should he? It's not like six year olds were off winning awards anyway.

Once the nearby church bells chimed for 4pm, he darted into the bar, reminding himself that he would have one nice drink, nothing more.

He had his drink in minutes, and it was gone in several more. The thought of leaving occurred to him, but that gnawing feeling of emptiness, which lingered through the day as a whisper, returned with a vengeance as he looked at the change he tossed on the counter for his drink. He found himself ordering another drink, and another, each time staring at the coins and bills he tossed on the bar to pay for longer than he had ever before.

The sun fell outside, and the nightlife regulars began to take their usual seats in the bar. A woman sat near Ron, and he couldn't help but stare. At first he only focused on her feminine assets, but when she looked over to him, he couldn't look away from her face. It was unlike any he had ever seen. One of her eyes sat further out on her face than the other, and her long pointed nose sat just off center of her face. As he stared, she smiled with a long grin, stretching into her cheeks. She spoke to him, her words undecipherable but spoken in a voice that sounded exactly like music. The musical sounds filled his ears, his head, his whole being with a calm and relaxing warmth. Beautiful, simply beautiful.

He felt his mouth and body moving in response to her, but all of his conscious attention was on the face, a sight that dulled the feeling of emptiness within him. 

---

Ron jolted awake, quickly darting his eyes around the room to see where he ended up the night before. Somehow, despite his alcohol-induced loss of memory, he made it back to his house. As he tried to create a sequence of events in his mind, his hand bumped into something in his bed. No, a someone. His memory sparked. The woman, the beautiful woman from the bar! He hadn’t had a night filled with such wonder and beauty in all of his life.

The woman stirred, and slowly rose, back to Ron. She looked around, then looked back at him with a smile. "Hey sexy," she whispered.

Ron's heart fell. This was not the beautiful woman he remembered from the bar. Her eyes sat evenly apart, and her tiny nose matched the shortness of her mouth. Her voice had no song quality; it spoke just the same as all other voices in his life. His heart ached with the feeling of loss, ripped deeper than he ever felt before.

"Get out," he whispered.

"What was that?" the woman asked.

Her voice, the hoarseness of each syllable clashing with each other, ripped at his ears. Her ugly face could make only sound, not wonderful music. "Get out!" He grabbed beer cans, pillows, whatever he could, and threw them at the woman as she grabbed her skirt from the floor and darted out of the room in horrified tears.

As he prepared to throw a final can at the door as a well-deserved 'fuck you' to the woman for her deception, he noticed the drops of red that now spattered the room. His gaze locked onto his two fingers and thumb, now bloody at the tips and throbbing with a dull pain. Without thinking, he rubbed them together. He expected a jolt of pain, like he felt when they touched other things, but instead the pain subsided, and with it some of the emptiness inside of him dulled too.

With that motion, he remembered. The coin. The one from his son's lemonade stand. It had the face of beauty on it, and his dreams of rubbing it made him feel so warm, so healthy, so complete. He had something magical, something divine, in his own fingers! And now, it was gone. His heart fell, and the emptiness returned.

No. He wouldn't let something so precious go so easily. It had only been two days, and no store would take a coin like that as currency. His son still had the coin, he was sure of it. He would just need to go to his ex-wife's house and get it back.

A part of him nagged him to jump in the shower, or at least put on some new underwear, but the rest of his being couldn't wait. Every second he wasted could potentially be the second that his son dropped the coin down a drain, or threw it in a pond, or any number of other ways a young child could lose something as small as a coin. His head pounded with the thoughts. The shower could wait. He may not even need a shower once he got the coin back; it made all things beautiful, and beautiful things would never become so impure that they'd need showers. He would be able to drink to his heart's content in a world of music, and wake up the next morning just as fresh as the day before!

He shook the cobwebs off his bike and rode off into the streets, cursing under his breath about his impounded car and revoked license.

---

It took longer than Ron would have liked, but by noon he arrived at the sidewalk in front of his ex-wife's house. He hated the little garden out in front of the light blue walls, he hated the welcome mat covered with suns and umbrellas out on the tiny porch, and he especially hated the lawn gnomes hiding under the flowers and bushes. He did his best to avoid looking at their creepy faces as he knocked on the front door.

His ex-wife answered the door. "Ron?" She didn't hide her disgust. "What the hell are you doing here? It's my time with Max, you know." Her face turned from a disgust at him to an entirely different revulsion. "My God, did you shit your pants or something? What's wrong with you?"

The words of her voice throbbed in his ears like the sound of scratching metal, but he fought through the feeling. "The coin," he stammered, struggling to focus. He felt his fingers and thumb rub together, and the words came to him. "The kid took a coin from my collection, and I need it back." A perfectly viable excuse, he thought.

"Since when do you keep any coin instead of spending it on booze?"

"This one's different. Valuable." He stopped himself from revealing any more.

"Well," his ex-wife said with a bit of a smile, "in that case, maybe I'll sell it to make up for all that child support you owe."

He felt a bullet shoot through his heart from her words. The coin, his precious coin, sold off to god-knows-who! As he stared at her, the anger he felt that morning surged back. He hated hearing her uneven, un-melodic voice saying such horrid things, saying anything at all! And her face, her even eyes and centered nose, only served to enrage him further. The corners of her small mouth continued to smile, and he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I'm getting it myself!" he declared, forcing his way into the house. His body, while worn down from the passage of time and overworking of his liver, still had enough strength left to push his ex-wife aside and rush into the house, making a line for his son's room.

He burst in to see his son sitting on the floor with some coloring books. His felt bag, his favorite storage item, sat next to him.

"Daddy?" his son asked, confused. "Why are you back in Mommy's house?"

Ron didn't answer as he grabbed the felt bag and poured its contents on the floor, shuffling through the coins, crayons, and other contents. Not a single item he saw glinted with the gold he longed for. "The coin," he said pointedly, staring down at the pile of junk before him.

"W-what?"

The word echoed in Ron's mind, ripping at his insides, making the emptiness inside him intolerable. He grabbed the child, throwing him against the wall, holding his ugly even face in a single clenching hand. "The coin! The golden coin I left in your bag! What the hell did you do with it, boy?"

The child began crying, his face even uglier than before, the sobs and cries tearing Ron's mind apart. He continued screaming, demanding answers, shaking the obstacle between him and his coin against the wall with each word. He heard yelling and footsteps behind him, but he couldn't worry about that. He needed the coin. No one would stop him from having that divine, wonderful-

Something smashed into Ron's head, sending a single jolt of pain before everything cut to darkness.

---

Ron's eyes slowly opened to bright white light all around him. He heard an even beeping in the distance. He tried to get up, to look around, to do anything at all, but his body refused to respond.

He heard a tune ring out nearby. His eyes darted to the most beautiful doctor he had ever seen, his long gaping mouth opening and closing to create the tune. The doctor gestured at his papers, pointing at a nearby IV drip from time to time. The movements lined up with the tune from the doctor's mouth like a rehearsed performance.

A nurse came into the room, her uneven eyes meeting his, and their two beautiful faces performed a wondrous duet for Ron. The doctor pointed at the neck of the nurse, miming her being struck. The nurse let her body go a bit limp from the acted blow. The two continued their song as they moved, the sights and sounds filling Ron with a warmth unmatched by any he felt before.

The performance ended, and the two waited for Ron's response. He wished to applaud, to praise their wonderful features, but his body refused. The two left the room, heads fallen. Ron hated to let their wonder go unmentioned, but he couldn't imagine they didn't know how beautiful they were already.

His eyes glanced around the room, clearly in a hospital, and then to himself. He noticed his arm rested on his stomach, though he couldn't entirely feel it. On his arm laid a note, propped for him to read.

"Ron: You're lucky my dad didn't kill you. I'm getting sole custody of Max. Burn in hell with your damn coin."

His eyes wandered to his hand. Between his fingers and thumb rested a small circle of gold. His thumb rubbed slowly and continuously, and while Ron couldn't feel the movement of his thumb or the texture of the coin, he felt the warmth and wonder that the coin possessed flowing into him, filling the emptiness and longing inside of him with something absolutely beautiful.

[aion-rsa]

Tommy Chong Talks Cheech & Chong Delivery Systems, Old and New

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Smoking more now but getting high less? The iconic comedy duo Cheech and Chong have always had a solution. The very names Tommy Chong and Cheech Marin are synonymous with weed culture. When The Simpsons ran an episode on dispensaries being legalized in Springfield, they referred to stoners as “Cheech and Chongs.” The pair won’t be selling out of the back of an ice cream truck, like they did in Nice Dreams. Cheech & Chong are doing it legal. They even got a license.

Together with Five Point Holdings, they will license the Cheech & Chong Brand to open dispensaries. Right now they’re going for licenses in California, Nevada, Arizona, Illinois and Washington. The dispensaries will feature cannabis products from both Tommy Chong’s Cannabis and Cheech’s Stash brands. The outlets will also be the first place to purchase Cheech and Chong clothing and memorabilia.

The duo goes back to the late 1960s. Chong had been the guitarist and songwriter for the Vancouvers, a Canadian band signed to Motown. When the band broke up he formed the improvisational group City Works. Southern Californian Mexican-American Richard “Cheech” Marin moved to Canada to avoid the draft during the Vietnam War and joined the group. They rolled weed culture in a big bambu, toured and recorded massively successful albums. Their bits altered the consciousness and the history of standup comedy at a time when the art form was going through some of its most expansive and experimental period.

Their movies – Up in Smoke (1978), Cheech and Chong’s Next Movie (1980), and Nice Dreams (1981) – most of which were directed by Chong, lampooned the legal limits imposed on marijuana, and defined the paranoia which surrounded pot for non-white smokers. Cheech went on to direct, write, collect art and act in more than 20 films, including Once Upon A Time In Mexico, and television series like Nash Bridges, Lost, and Grey’s Anatomy. Chong did a regular stint on Fox’s That 70’s Show and an irregular one at the Taft Correctional Institution. He’d gotten caught in a government sting on drug paraphernalia in 2003, signed a plea deal to protect his family and served nine months. Chong consistently promoted the medicinal benefits of marijuana while battling prostate cancer, touted its recreational values and fought for its decriminalization.

John Ashcroft may not like it, but now you can score from the Man himself. Tommy Chong spoke with Den of Geek about smoke, mirrors and rock and roll.

DEN OF GEEK: Have you tried all the strains in the Cheech & Chong brand?

TOMMY CHONG: Probably, but I lose track. People always ask, “What’s your favorite strain?” and I say, “Anything handed to me.” My favorite strain is marijuana. My second favorite strain is cannabis.

You’re on your way to being the Paul Newman of pot. Do you see spreading your seeds as a spiritual calling?

Oh, absolutely, absolutely, but only if I’m asked.

How is this different from Tommy Chong’s Cannabis or Cheech’s Private Stash?

It’s a combination. People got hooked on Cheech’s stash. It’s there. It’ll be there with the locals and everything. But the whole thing, it’s going to be a store and so we’re going to have everything in there. And then we’re going to have new products that we’ve come up with. Cannabis is the main thing and our names are there to give people assurance that you’re not only going to get the best quality but you’re also going to get a few laughs.

And for those autograph seekers and people that are collectors, autograph collectors, I started sketching little cartoon figures so I’m getting deluged with requests for my sketches. And people are sending me free canvases. I had a postcard made up that says the sketches cost a hundred bucks. If they pay it, fine. If they don’t, that’s even better.

I read that you used to give away pot to your opening acts. Did you actually start the dispensary to liquidate your personal stash?

That’s a good question. Yeah, actually. The thing about weed, it’s got a hell of a shelf life. I mean, I’ve got weed here I think it’s been 30, 40 years old, and I smoke it and it works. But you know what happens is, if you smoke a lot of weed, you become an easy high. You know what I’m saying? I’ve been around people, they can never get enough but they can never get enough of anything, be it weed or food or whatever or anything. They’re just people that have a high tolerance. With me, I’m a lightweight. I’m a one-toker, that’s it.

Lucky you. Where is the legalization battle now?

We’re looking to take the stigma off it. Get it legalized federally so we can bank our money, so we can join the corn and barley and the rest of the cash crops. That’s all we are. We’re just a cash crop. We’re an agricultural product, that’s all. It’s no different. Treat us like aspirin. That’s a product from a tree. So, that’s what we want. Take away the racist quality of it and then we’re fine. You take racism out of the country, we’re going to have a nice country. Because right now there are too many little racist things all over the place and this Black Lives Matter, they’re getting rid of a lot of it. Finally, the Washington Redskins are going to change their name.

I’ve been on that bandwagon for a long time because it’s horrible. You know why they called it Redskins? Because there was a bounty on natives for a long time, and so the red signified the blood. So, in order to show that you had killed a native, you took a piece of the skin. Like they did in the old days, they took scalps, you know? The red blood was the red skin to signify blood. Not the color of the man but the color of the blood. It was a bounty. I mean, back in the day natives did the same thing. They scalped white settlers, white people too, for the same reason, so they had proof that they killed or at least scalped somebody. But no, it’s a very militant, racist memory. And then they got a logo of an Indian on the helmet itself. So, no, there’s no place for that kind of racism.

If pot is decriminalized, where are for-profit prisons going to get their free labor?

Exactly. I mean, that’s what Trump was trying to do with the migrants, stick them in prison. You get that free labor. But listen, the drug laws, the cocaine and all that shit, you’re right, it’s all been done on purpose. A lot of them are designed purposely to create that labor force.

You were the only first-time offender caught up in Operation Pipe Dreams and you went under the Bush policy on mandatory sentencing. First of all, were you ever pardoned?

I turned down a pardon. Obama was going to pardon me, but I turned it down because I think part of the pardon process, I may be wrong, is to denounce your crime and say that you would never do that. The reason I turned it down is because it was a bogus charge, it was a racist law, and I’m very proud to have served that time and I’m very proud, really, to have that on my back. They hinted that if I did some anti-drug commercials or something that they could give me house arrest or something. It was all bullshit. I did an anti-drug commercial one time, but it didn’t turn out very anti-drug.

In the ’80s there was this anti-pot PSA on the subways, something like, “My little Timmy is an A-student. He plays on the football team and he works after school. How could someone like him have gotten into pot?” Something like that. I always wondered, and you can tell me, would he have had the energy to do that if he wasn’t smoking pot?

That’s right. Little A-student. Hey listen, we wouldn’t be talking on this cell phone if it wasn’t for potheads. We wouldn’t have had a computer. The computer would have been some dream, if it wasn’t for potheads. Well, look at Steve Jobs and Wozniak. They were big potheads and they would smoke a joint and they’d go, “Oh my God, yeah, here’s what we do, yeah.” So much of our lifestyle. That’s why the legalization thing, it’s just like any other stupid, racist laws that we have that we’re cleaning up as we change administration. One thing about Trump, you got to admit that he did clear the swamp. He did know that he was the Judas goat that we needed to identify the swamp creatures, but he fulfilled that promise.

I read that the first time you got high was after a jazz player gave you a Lenny Bruce record and a joint. Which was the bigger gateway drug and how did they interact?

Well, I used to go to this little jazz club in Calgary because it was really only after-hours place that provided music. It was a private club. And if you brought your guitar, if you were a musician you got in free. I couldn’t play jazz but I was a blues guitar player, so I used to bring my guitar and set it by the door and come in and listen to the jazz. Just hang out.

This bass player, he was a friend of mine, he was a Chinese guy, Raymond Mah, he came back from LA with a Lenny Bruce album and a joint. He handed both to me and I put the joint in my pocket and he lit up one of his joints and it was the first time I ever smoked. I just took a couple of hits and I got so high. Whoa. Then when I went home I did up my own joint. I would just take one toke and it lasted me a month. I had the best time. I’d take a toke and then I’d listen to Lenny and laugh so hard. Oh my God. I played that record for my son and he could not see the humor. He did not see the humor in it at all.

I love Lenny Bruce. He’s a jazz comic really.

Well, jazz clubs were one of the only venues that he could work. There were no comedy clubs. He worked whatever club he could work. But the jazz clubs, The Hungry I in San Francisco, that’s where Lenny worked. He got arrested for saying dirty words on stage. That’s how racist the laws and the cops were back then, they could tell you what you could say on stage or how you could look, how you could dress. It was crazy.

Cheech & Chong came up at the same time as a wave of comedic change was happening: Richard Pryor, George Carlin. Did you see your pot humor as political?

Not really, no. I mean, I was influenced by Lenny but I never had any ax to grind. See, Cheech and I, we weren’t going to be comedians in the beginning. He’s a singer and I’m a guitar player, so we put a band together. Because we’d been doing comedy for nine months, it was only natural that when we stepped on stage the first thing we’d do would be some funny bits.

Well, one funny bit led to another and led to another and led to another. Next thing you know the show was over and we hadn’t played one note. And I realized that, “Oh man, we’ve got something here.” So, I told the band … The bass player was funny. “Hey, when’s our next gig boss?” Because he sat and watched the whole show. But everybody got paid and then we went home and Cheech and I are driving along home trying to figure out what we should call ourselves. I asked him if he had a nickname and he said, “Yeah, Cheech.” And so that was the beginning of a great, great career.

So, in regular conversation you call him Cheech, not Richard?

Yeah, it’s Cheech now. Cheech. Never Richard. His first wife called him Richard because she didn’t want him to be Cheech, she wanted him to be Richard. “Richard.”

Did you see how you were affecting social change, or did you see yourselves as reflecting it?

When we started doing comedy records, that’s when I started doing social consciousness. Like Welcome to Mexico. That was a political thing because at the time they weren’t letting long-haired hippies into Mexico. So we did a bit about Jesus going to Mexico and being kicked out. “Welcome to Mexico. Where are you going?”

“I came to see my children. I have children everywhere.”

Yeah, yeah. Oh God. We had so much fun doing things. But we would do ethnic jokes, but not jokes but bits. Just crazy, and it all came from pot because we could hoard pot. We always had a joint somewhere. It’s funny, we never went out of our way to buy it. It always was there. It’s weird how people, “Hey, you got a joint?” “Yeah, okay.” That’s the way it’s always been. There’s no organization. Like when Cheech and I would record. The first thing we found out after we did “Dave’s Not Here,” we were rehearsing, Lou [Adler] tried recording it live in a studio, but it lost a lot of things. First of all, we had to reset and all that other shit.

So, after one recording session with Lou we said, “We got to record in a mix down room. All we need is an engineer.” And that’s all we did, we did everything with an engineer and just Cheech and I because we needed that freedom to come up with the craziness. Because when you have a recording session, you have to have the music written out, you have to know what you’re doing, you got to rehearse because it costs a lot of money to have people hanging around.

After we did “Dave’s Not Here,” Lou said, “Okay, what else you got?” So, Cheech and I wrote right then, we did “Blind Melon Chitlin’.” I’m getting a lot of flak from that now. Not a lot, but I’m getting some flak for wearing blackface in Still Smoking.

Both you and Cheech straddled the world of comedy and music. So, which tent was more comfortable and who threw the better parties?

When we were just recording, before we became really a touring group, we were hanging out with the Three Dog Night people and going to whatever parties Ed Caraeff had or stuff like that. No, no, we were never into that party. I had been with Motown and our group was very boring. We never partied. And I had a wife. She was my girlfriend at the time. I was married too, so I had two wives. So, we never really did the parties. Let’s take it back. When we were trying to get a record deal, yeah, we would go to the odd party then, but it never turned out well at all. That’s when cocaine was pretty popular and so there would be cocaine parties and they weren’t fun at all. You get too stoned and too worked up. When you’re trying to make it you’re broke. You don’t have any money. So, what you do, you become a hanger-on. You just leech onto whoever’s throwing the party.

We were never consumers, food or booze or anything like that. Actually, what we were doing was collecting bits. We would talk to people and then people would tell us some funny bit then we’d use it, or we’d get an idea to do another bit. But we were just hanging around just to be in the gang more than anything with the Three Dog Night. They knew a lot of the rockers at the time.

Later on when Cheech and I became Cheech & Chong, there were, I don’t know what you’d call them. They’re not really parties but after the show things. Encounters. But even then, both Cheech and I, we couldn’t get too serious with anything because we had a wife and family at home.

I have your unauthorized autobiography. Can you tell the story about the welcome to the neighborhood you got in Harlem?

Oh, welcome to New York. Yeah, Harlem. We were going to perform at the Apollo Theater. Whoa, it was the biggest deal: An R&B group playing at the Apollo Theater. Especially Bobby Taylor because he was from New York and he used to be one of those kids that would go to the Apollo. So, we were all excited. We pulled up in our car. I guess we had a rented station wagon, yeah. And we’re all looking at, I guess it was Patti LaBelle rehearsing, and we’re all there backstage looking, and then we look over and there’s our roadie, he was supposed to be with the equipment. And, “Joe, what are you doing?” “Oh, watching this.” So, we went running out there and sure enough they’d broken into the car and stole the bass. Wow.

But one time I was walking from the hotel to the Apollo Theater and I come up to this group of people and there’s one guy standing there with a guitar, holding a guitar like he’s going to hit somebody with it. And it looked like he was going to hit me. At first, I kind of looked, “What?” Then I turned around and I seen behind me was a guy with a knife, a bigass knife. Next thing you know, the guy holding the guitar, he takes off running, and the guy with the knife runs and starts jabbing him in the ass with the knife. Oh man. And nobody on the street even looked at it. They just went around their business like it wasn’t happening, like it was so normal. It was whoa, like you say, welcome to Harlem. That was scary.

The Vancouvers’ Bobby Taylor was an amazing singer. I know he discovered The Jackson 5 and you guys toured with them. You co-wrote the hit “Does Your Mother Know About Me,” and it builds to this beautiful chord that changes the entire flow of the song and it comes out of nowhere. When you’re writing something like that, what comes first, the words, the melody or that chord?

It was a poem. I wrote a poem. That’s how I write, I write poetry. And Tom Barrett, our composer, we were doing his songs and he looked at my poetry and said, “Do you mind if I take this with me?” He went home and he wrote the first part.

Then he came back to Wes and I, the bass player, and he said, “Now, I’m trying to do the bridge and Wes says, “How about … ” and he played the note, and it’s a major note. Well, it could have been a minor note but I played the major chord with the note because I’m not that versed musically. I’m more of a poet. And so I played a major chord and Tom Barrett goes, “Oh, I like that, I like that.” And it’s backwards, major minor instead of minor major, and he loved it.

Then that kicked it off for the next chorus and then he did it again. That change itself made that song unique. The Tower of Power, they copied the changes because they loved that major chord. It just resonates and all of a sudden you’re going major. I found out too it’s from a classical music score, that they would do that in classical music.

I was with my daughter’s boyfriend, he’s a guitar player, and we were trying to figure out the chords of this one song and he told me a lot of it’s from the classical, if you have classical training. And I think that’s what Tom Barrett loved about that chord too, because it had a classical music sound to it. But yeah, it worked really good.

It’s a beautiful song and that chord is what really propels the whole thing. Can you talk about jamming with George Harrison and Klaus Voorman and Ronnie Spector on “Basketball Jones?”

Well, I never really did because we would lay down the main track and then they’d come in and do their parts. So we never really jammed. Just like The Jackson 5. We were on tour with The Supremes. But when you get your group, man, that’s all you play is your songs. Unfortunately, we never had a chance to jam except when I had that after hours club in Vancouver. That’s when we jammed with some real fucking heavies. Unbelievable. I’ll tell you one story. My club was downstairs from a hippie club called The Retinal Circus and one week James Browne was in town. He was playing at the big stadium, The Gardens Ballroom or The Gardens. Anyway, James’ whole band was there. He had a big 16-piece orchestra.

So, they all came down to the club after and they’re on stage playing with us, with our band. We had a horn man. We had all sorts of people up there. And upstairs The Rolling Stones were appearing and they hardly got a crowd because James Brown was in town and Vancouver was a big R&B town at that time. The psychedelic music, and especially the Stones, they were just not happening at the time at all.

So, I looked up, my brother gave me a sign, I looked up and there’s Ron Wood standing there trying to get in the club. It was packed. I didn’t see Keith or Mick, but Ron was standing there waving at me and saying, “Hey man, can you get me in?” The club was too packed and I just ignored it. So, the Stones never got into our club that night. Oh man.

You got high with three of The Beatles?

Yeah, I got everybody except Paul. I smoked with George many times, many, many times. Every time we’d see each other. He was a guitar player and I’m kind of a guitar player and he really respected Cheech & Chong. He loved what we did. At that level. Like Bob Dylan, he really respected Cheech & Chong too because he saw what we were doing. We were different, unique. We weren’t chasing some kind of fad, we were creating.

I smoked in front of John Lennon. He was sitting on the floor. He’s so funny. I offered him a toke and he said, “No man,” he’s worried about his immigration problems. And who else? Oh, Rod Stewart came in and he refused to smoke because of his voice. And Ringo. There’s another crazy story, Keith Moon. We were getting high in front of Ringo and Ringo was in rehab. He was trying to get rid of an alcohol problem. Paul was the only one. And I put out the word and I’ve got friends that know Paul, that did his videos and that, and they told Paul and Paul’s ready. Whenever we’re together, we’re going to smoke. The only Beatle I never got high with.

Carl Reiner died the other day. His and Mel Brooks’s “2000 Year Old Man,” along with Abbott and Costello’s “Who’s on First” and your and Cheech’s “Dave’s Not Here” are encapsulations of the duo styles. So, who were you following as a duo and where do you see yourselves in the comedy duo history alongside Laurel and Hardy and Key & Peele and Martin and Lewis?

Well, believe it or not, my influence as a duo was the Smothers Brothers. It was Tom Smothers. He played that dummy. I really liked Tom. I liked the way he interacted with his brother. Yeah, that was the only one. Nobody else. We got one compliment one time from Jerry Lewis. They were telling Jerry Lewis, “Hey, there’s no more comedy teams,” and Jerry said, “Oh yes there are.” They said, “Who?” and he said, “Cheech & Chong.” And it was Jerry Lewis. I like everybody.

But we were never that kind of Carl Reiner/Mel Brooks type of delivery. That was really radio comedy where you get out in front. Although Smothers Brothers, I just liked Tom’s attitude with what he had. Cheech and I, our whole thing was unique. We never really copied. Everybody copied us.

We’ve been told by so many people, moviemakers especially, Tarantino and Spike Lee and all these guys, they really appreciated our movie making skills. In the movies, I was influenced by Jerry Lewis because Jerry Lewis used video when he shot his movies and he was the only one to do it. Then I did it and now they shoot movies with video.

Who do you see as the next generation Cheech & Chong?

I have no idea. Key & Peele, they had a shot but then he made that movie and I don’t think we’ll ever see that duo again. As far as comedy goes, I guess Dave Chappelle is a must-see because he’s so wise in so many ways. But I love Kevin Hart. He was a judge on Dancing with the Stars, and when I did my tango he gave me a 10. It was the only 10 I got, from some other comedian. So, I love Kevin Hart because of that. As far as comedians go, my hero for standup was always Redd Foxx. I knew Redd Foxx personally. That was one show that I made sure I saw. I saw Richard Pryor live when he was in the clubs and I saw Redd Foxx in the clubs.

To this day, I have never seen a comedian like Redd. Redd did two hours when I was there. One hour he had the crowd so high they were screaming, laughing so hard, and then he brought them down. He brought them down so much that they were running, literally leaving the club, getting out of the club. And he did it on purpose. Then he opened the door and people would leave and then he went back on stage and did another hour. To this day, I’m in awe. I could never do it. I got to the point where I’d do a good solid hour, hour and a half if I had to, but never like Redd Foxx.

Do you think it’s different doing standup as a duo? Is there less pressure because you’re bouncing off each other?

Oh yeah. You got more control. You entertain each other. Cheech and I always did. Even to this day when we go now, I’ll do some bits alone and I swerve like crazy, I go all over the place. And Cheech, he’s backstage, like old days. We broke the mold. Now, it’s sort of like our golden oldie set

You can learn more about Cheech & Chong’s branded dispensary at Five Point Holdings.

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Understand Dan Lok’s Financial Journey – How to Invest Like A Millionaire Ep. 1

How millionaires invest and manage your money differently, this is the first time I am doing a workshop or a meeting on, how to invest and manage your money I’ve been doing this, almost 2 years now and I mean always talking about how to make money, how to post, how to do degeneration how to do positioning how to do marketing all these things, and this is the first time, that I do it, because a few months ago I get a survey, to our members and I gave him a list of topics that they want to learn, and they say you know what one of the topics that we want to learn Danny’s how to manage our money, and that’s interesting because this is something I love to talk about, but I wasn’t sure if the group is ready for it. I tickets sale, world’s highest paid consultant media celebrity, Multi-millionaire claim tedx speaker, international best-selling author Dan Lok, no just before the workshop, that I got a few emails, from our members, are there saying you know what Dan I am I’m struggling with money, well I’m still learning, how to make money, i don’t have any money to manage, so you know this Workshop thing for me, that lies the first stocking, it’s like it’s it’s absolutely moronic, it’s like saying exercise when I’m fit, you don’t wait till your fat and then you exercise, exercise, to get fit, so if you don’t have any money right now he’ll wait to I’ll make more money then I’ll loan, the very fact you don’t have a lot to manage right now shows you don’t know how the f****** manager, is very simple, so it’s not that you wait till you have money then you do it it’s, along the way, ICU make money, you have to learn how to manage, if you’re making $5,000 a month and you can manage 5,000 what makes you think of many 50,000, what makes you think a man is possible in a month, you can even f****** five grand that you have, and is hotworx money is attracted, the people who knows how to multiply write it down, money is attracted to people who know how to multiply, that’s why the rich get richer, has nothing to do with, opportunity it it’s for damn it, it’s because they have the skillset to multiply and money is attracted to that, and that’s why I did that well in a very rapid pace, so let me share something with you of my own, kind of financial Journey okay, no I’ve not always been financially successful, i won struggle just like most people from month to month, living paycheck-to-paycheck and trying to make ends meet, The lowest point of my life I’m a member of back then.

When I no money, at the time I was living with my mom in Siri, and my mom and I would go to the bakery near my house, about 10 minute drive and once a week who will go there, around 6 p.m., now the bakery closes at 7 p.m., you know I quit 6 p.m., yep, because you can get a load of bread, what is a few dollars, and my mom and I would buy that lower bread, and when they go eat that for breakfast or lunch, anti weed, and my mom and I will go to the store superstore grocery store, and we’re go to, nothing, vegetable food section, we’ll go to the corner where they have their almost expire, i want to talk about, we buy groceries, So I know what it’s like, i know that but have multiple credit cards all maxed out, trying to, max out this one in and do cash withdrawal trying to make me down payment on that one and then that one is maxed out and try to get another, do my business failure at one point I was $150,000 and $150,000 in gas, so when I first started making more money as I turn my life around, i bought them beyond my means and on many occasions just, spent to spend money and struggle to pay bills on time now, on the surface, stop being nice, and it was spending money, going to vacations in by my friend, i spend so much time worrying about money, my financial situation, now why when I first started making money, why did I feel the need to spend, because when I have no money, i had no self-esteem, I have no friends, so I thought I’d make more money I thought you buying my friend’s dinner my treating them well, bye, taking vacations, guess what I did what, friends attention, makes me feel good, yep maybe I’ll even live in love right just get them attention from I thought that’s what you do, now let me ask you a question if, my friends are friends with me because I buy them self are they true friends, no matter what, so in my twenties I had Focus most of my energy and time, knowing how to make more money now, lisa keys I have to believe that which I now know to be false, that I could just make more money everything would work out, marketing and making money is relatively easy for you, you got making it, okay send it with me, i can always make, More I can always make more, and I just wasn’t true, he just wasn’t true, and my kingdom continue to go up by my situation never Woulda changed, at first when I was starting to have a little bit of brake, and I was making $2,500 a month as a copywriter, and I pray to the University of Utah please, please just let me double my income, let me get up to 5000 I would never ever I’ll never ask for anything else, just give me up to 5000 I’m happy my mom to give my mom I’m good I can no longer to buy, groceries, and I got the 5000, what happens, one more, then I prayed again please please like 10000 a month, never ask for anything again, and he’s always to spend money better call better stop, please whatever I was thinking kind of working, i’m not going to just one more time ever let me know, You find ways to spend it sitting room.

Hi it’s me again, and that you don’t work, that did not work so the only difference was when I was younger and earning less not be able to say, running mask, i want more toys, 1stopdiecast, doesn’t matter to us, mycashflow pad, how much money make, hispanic, how many you can find ways to spend money, but usually, yes, are you notice when you have, when you were just getting started in your career what you want and what you need is how much I want, is it the same room, saints and prayer, right, mazda Sport car and you see my oversized suit, my f****** glasses my spiky hair, let me know when I would go out to dinner with my friends and, and we would talk like 3:10 so you can on 9th, and I don’t even drink, I do not drink every drop D plan, how I, so we’re spending this money stupid it was very versatile, why spending money feels good and this is the psychology of it, came up with I believe when you’re poor you’re surrounded by things that you think you would like to own, all the nice car and nice house educational, those things I want to buy, i cannot afford the feeling, unsatisfied desire, so when design begins to feel poor having seems like, it will make you feel rich, i said again, wendy’s Zion begins to feel poor, having seems like, like it will make you feel rich, so I was, feeling unsatisfied and I thought finding next car by the next thing, what make me happy, know how many men have had this experience Maybe, even guys like you have this dream car whatever you wanted by what, That you really wanna., andy’s work your ass off and you get it, and the happiness last for about what hello, supplements, maybe a few days, matthew munz, in some cases maybe a few hours whatever the thing is, i guess what then we look for the next thing right, panties, but I tell them don’t go by this what are, you see if I can do it I know that, i need to get the out of the system, i need you, i said don’t don’t don’t buy that Maserati, it’s, it’s not necessary, yeah I got that I know I agree with you, let me buy it, let me load it myself something something else, they’ll have to go through quickly, i do like nice things I’ll share with you that how you could have the nice things, and still have the freedom that you want, So we realize that just make you more money was not the answer making more money was or what, was not the answer, i had to learn how to properly manage my money, whatever money that comes in, and I have to learn how to quiet and create asset that would create well there’s a very big difference between making money, money, in creating wealth, some of you are very good at making money, also credit rating wealth, that two very very different things, just because you know how to make money doesn’t mean, the tooth fairy, i made it my mission to locate information I could find on the subject, making it, keeping it growing at multiplying it how do you do that, blood Sweat and Tears, and I’ve developed a set of principles and guidelines which is what I’m going to share with you, today, okay sound good, What you want me to do with that.

Hi this is Dan Lok, welcome to Dan Lok TV, i want you to subscribe to my YouTube channel, now you might ask, why should I every week I’ll close to new videos, all focusing on helping you becoming a better on, you will be challenged, and you will be inspired, and you will be motivated, bowen portal, you’ll get practical ideas and strategy, it will take, your business to the next level, so go ahead, pictures of Squatty Potty, turn on the notification so you don’t miss out on a single episode, i promise you, you won’t regret it,

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[RF] A Salivation Of Words After A Robbery

Ravi had just worked a double shift and was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Wearily, he said goodbye to the employees he managed and handed the keys to the store over to the much younger assistant manager. He slipped into his almost stereotypically bad car, lit a cigarette, and sped off into the night accompanied by some forgotten 80’s music. Finally after a longish boorish drive, he was free to sequester himself away in his empty apartment, drink in hand, by the stabbing blue light of a TV screen.

Since leaving University Ravi’s life had ordered itself, quite efficiently, into a perfectly routine, routine. A routine which Ravi adhered too with the clinical detachment of a doctor observing the decline of a long suffering terminally ill patient. He would rise late and usually hungover, unless work demanded an early start, then he would spend the rest of the morning (by which I mean the time between 11am and 1pm) drinking coffee and watching cricket reruns. After dressing he would go out to a café somewhere for ‘breakfast,’ then loiter around the parking lots of second hand bookshops, smoking, until he had to leave for work. On the days when he didn’t have work he would return to his apartment to read and watch even more television. Sometimes on the weekend he would go out to a friend’s house for a party. And sometimes his friends would come to his apartment for one.

As Ravi had grown older the type of parties that he attended changed. When he was young and still frittering his time away at high school his revelries where pure Dionysian triumphs. With enough music, drugs, and alcohol abuse to make even the most hardened libertine nervous. Now, however, the gatherings he attended where ascetic celebrations of restraint; without music or fanfare, with far less drugs, and far less alcohol. These adult gatherings, party isn’t really the right word for them, weren’t any less fun than the outings of his youth, all the same people were there which is what counts after all, it’s just… they were different somehow, less explosive. It was one such gathering, that Ravi found himself hosting, which set in motion the events of the coming months.

This story isn’t particularly concerned with the motivations and backstories of every character at Ravi’s gathering that night. However, some parting sentences to describe Ravi’s soon to be accomplices seems in order. Nevertheless I hesitate to tell my reader the names of my secondary characters and give their essence form, as if such a futile gesture would stave off the necessity of telling this most accurate history. But they can wait no longer. Their names are like two impatient children pressing their noses up against a car window in order to hurry me their long suffering parent along… Charles and Tom. There I have named you, happy?

Both Charles and Tom had, like Ravi, found occupations or put more accurately distractions to occupy their time on Earth, little trivialities and empty ambitions to cherish and nurture in order that their lives might have some semblance of purpose. We might as well begin with Charles, a freelance journalist who desired nothing more than for his bottom draw fiction to be published. And then admired. I have heard that he used to ease his anxieties surrounding the lack of literary success he experienced by recalling an anecdote he had overheard somewhere about James Joyce submitting the manuscript for Ulysses forty two times before it was serialised. On the other hand, Tom had married young and was currently ‘raising’ a son while his wife supported him, the child being the reason for the young marriage. It was Tom, I might add, who was responsible for the limited range of illicit substances present at Ravi’s gathering that night.

As I speak to you, my dear reader, tapping out my little words on a keyboard in the dark, Tom was holding forth to Charles and Ravi about the realities of economic inequality, whilst cutting weed for a joint. That discourse sounds more interesting than the overly indulgent descriptions I find myself writing so I might as well draw your attention to that, which appears to me to be far more interesting than this.

“Under capitalism,” began Tom in a self-important manner, “Us workers are given the choice between employment and unemployment. By who? It’s not important right now. But it appears to me that any distinction between the two is arbitrary. We have to work or we starve to death.”

“Listen, man, what your describing is called wage slavery. You’re not being new. You’re not being original. So you can shelve the rhetoric,” said Charles, “Why don’t we talk about something else?”

“What are you going to do about it then? Seeing you know all the answers,” retorted Tom.

“Nothing,” answered Charles, in a bored voice, “We’ve already tried guillotining the rich and heading up new regimes. It doesn’t work. The only thing we can do is to build up enough cash to escape this rat race we’ve been trapped in.”

“Goddam it! Are we doing this or are we going to spend the rest of the night arguing about Marxism 101. Because if it’s the latter, I’m out. I’ve already sat through enough beer hall pushes in Uni. I’m not going to sit through another one now,” exclaimed Ravi, a man with his priorities in order. Tom stopped fiddling with the papers he was trying to roll and looked with wounded revolutionary pride at Ravi. A moment passed. Then Tom finished rolling his joint, lit it, took a drag, and handed it to Charles. Pointedly.

“Here’s something for you to consider Ravi,” said Tom, “How much money does the Pizza shop you manage make in a week? And how much is it you get paid a week?”

“That depends on the week,” said Ravi evenly, taking a drag from the cigarette proffered to him by Charles, “On a good one, when like the footy is on or the ashes, the store makes about $90,000. I make about $500, enough for my rent and other expenses like funding these soirees.”

“And what does your owner, sorry, the owner contribute besides his capital?” continued Tom.

“What’s the point of this inquisition, mate?” asked Ravi, “Some Second Directorate banter to check if I’m a good party member?”

“No point,” said Tom, “But imagine how much easier our lives would be if we had even a third of that.”

“Whatever comrade,” said Ravi.

They finished the weed in silence. After which, Charles quietly got drunk in a corner. Tom left early because he had to look after his kid the next morning. Ravi flirted with a girl who clearly, well… clearly for everyone except Ravi, had no interest in him. However, the next night while Ravi was finishing up after a particularly exhausting shift he thought of what they had discussed that night. He opened the safe underneath the store-front counter and absentmindedly leafed through the envelopes inside which contained the fruits of that week’s labour. Then he shut it and went home.

#

An idea was slowly taking over Ravi’s mind and the more he refused to acknowledge it the more its hold on him grew. It appeared to him while he was falling asleep, it confronted him while he was in the shower, it menaced him at work, and it threatened to break his kneecaps whilst he was doing the thousand menial chores and duties people find to occupy themselves throughout the day. A true intellectual shake-down. Finally, so as to satisfy his idea’s incessant blabbering he decided to share it with his friends and receive their learned opinions on it. His reasoning being if they were against it, it would disappear and if they were for it, it would be eliminated by action.

He organised a meeting (Meeting? Yes, meeting it the right word) with Tom and Charles at an old diner early one morning. Ravi, being the first one to arrive, reserved a corner booth to wait and drink coffee at while he worked out what exactly he wanted to say. Soon he was joined by Charles, who sat down opposite him and struck up a conversation.

“Did you get a chance to look at the manuscript I sent you?” asked Charles, attempting to take a nonchalant tone but failing.

“Yes. I did,” said Ravi, with a vacuity purposely designed to provoke Charles.

“Well, what did you think?” asked Charles.

“Have you been reading Camus again?” said Ravi, and Charles nodded guiltily, “You know the effect he has on your narratives! I thought you wanted this one to have a happy ending. Isn’t that what you told me when you showed me the outline the other day?”

“I couldn’t help myself!” said Charles, echoing that famous junkie line to the dismay of everyone familiar with absurdism, “I was cleaning away some books and I glanced through a copy of The Myth of Sisyphus. It’s something that could happen to any artist, if he’s caught off guard. French intellectualism ruined my life!”

“Parts of it were certainly absurd,” said Ravi, then he relented, “But it lacked action! Your characters need to do things for a story to be satisfying. They can’t just sit around in café’s all day. There has to be a call to action so they leave their comforts and enter an unfamiliar situation otherwise a story feels flat and lifeless. I couldn’t find an inciting incident in that thing if you pointed it out.”

“What’s up dickheads?” said Tom, sitting down next to Ravi and picking up a menu.

“We were just talking about a short story I wrote,” Charles said, then growing defensive, “What would you have my characters do instead? Didi and Gogo don’t do anything for an entire fucking play! I might not have Beckett’s gift for being unintelligible but I can write a good narrative. So what if there’s not a lot of action?”

“You didn’t send me a copy,” said Tom.

“No offence, but it’s not finished yet and you’re not the best at literary criticism. The last time I asked your opinion on something you took a week to essentially say: ‘needs more sex.’” Charles said.

“It was meant to be a Romance story! Noting happened!” exclaimed Tom, “And just because I didn’t spend four years studying lit-ret-tuah like you and Ravi doesn’t mean I’m not right!”

“Both of you, shut the fuck up!” said Ravi, playing the role of peacemaker, “Tom your opinion’s not invalid. Charles grow up and accept Tom knows more about relationships than you do. Let’s move on to something else. What are you guys getting?”

“Salad looks good,” muttered Charles.

“I want to try one of those breakfast rolls,” declared Tom.

And having successfully steered the conversation in such a way that neither Charles’ artistic integrity nor Tom’s sensual pride were damaged, Ravi ordered an omelette. They ate in relatively peaceful silence. When they had finished and the waiters had cleared their food scraps away Ravi leaned forward to speak.

“Listen, do you guys remember what we were talking about the other day at my gathering?” began Ravi, “How it isn’t fair that I run a business basically by myself and that my boss gets to keep everything just because he inherited a bit of capital?”

“Vaguely,” said Tom, “But I also remember somebody… suggesting that there wasn’t anything we could do about it but buck up and work under it.”

“Well what if we could do something about it? What if I had a way that we could take a piece of that pie for ourselves and use it to get away from it all?”

“Are you suggesting we start our own company or some Pizza Shrugged Ayn Rand shit like that?” asked Charles, “Because we’ve firmly established by now that none of us have any money.

“That’s not it. I have a way that we could take enough money from that parasite with which we could all live a bit more securely for a few years,” said Ravi.

“What, do you mean steal it?” asked Tom.

“Exactly, but before you answer. Do you remember the figure I told you $90,000? The long weekend is coming up and the people who collect the money will be off and so instead of just one week we could get a fortnights ransom. Almost $200,000!” said Ravi, and though Charles looked hesitant Tom seemed excited.

“Jesus Christ!” he said, “How would you even pull something like that off?”

“Simple, we wait until late at night. I’ll schedule the roster so it’ll just be me and some other random there, corporate policy says there has to be two of us there the whole time. Tom you come in with a shotgun or something, wave it about and demand the contents of the safe under the counter. It has all the money in it. Then I’ll just give it to you! You fuck off and Charles can be the getaway driver,” explained Ravi.

“Hold on just a fucking second,” said Charles, finally getting a chance to speak, “You can’t be serious. This is armed robbery you’re talking about here. Is this really what we’ve come too? What about the cameras? Won’t the police notice if we suddenly come into hundreds of thousands of dollars after the store you work at is robbed?”

Ravi paused for a second before answering, “For a start the cameras are only pointed at the employees to make sure we don’t steal anything, ironic I know, but they won’t see anything incriminating. And while I admit that the methods are detestable $60,000 is two years wages for me. I could do anything with that, I could be free. Live my life…”

“As for the police tracing our bank accounts I know a guy who could launder the money for us,” said Tom, “He could even find a getaway vehicle for you and me, Charles.”

“Who’s this? How do you know him?” asked Charles.

“I… uh… used to sell pot for him,” said Tom.

“Charles you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. It was just an idea I had. But if we do it and you’re not a part of it I guarantee you’ll regret it,” said Ravi.

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it,” said Charles. And so it was decided that the idea that had been tormenting poor Ravi mind was to be put into action.

Now I have established this story’s conceit, I hope in a way that seems believable, and since our characters are now entering an unfamiliar situation (finally, I know) I think that we can take a break from all this exhaustive conversation and just describe the plot. Don’t get me wrong I like the dialogue, when Ravi told me about it I thought it was funny and meta and philosophically inclined. But I have pages of handwritten notes to transcribe and a deadline (just between you and me the deadline was the real impetus for this narrative shift). But I digress. It is sufficient to know that Charles, Tom, and Ravi continued to meet and flesh out the details of their plot without my supervision.

Ravi wok late (or for him, usual) on the day of the robbery to discover Tom had acquired the getaway vehicle and he and Charles were waiting inside his apartment. He made coffee and greeted his co-conspirators like Brutus greeting Cassius some fateful morning (Hyperbole! Ha, Ha cue laughter). And after going over the plan several times they sat in silent apprehension, watching television, barely talking, until it was time for Ravi to leave.

Throughout his shift Ravi watched the clock tick down like a condemned man waiting for the appointed time he was to be taken to the scaffold. He spent most of his shift that night sitting in a small office located just off the kitchen, ostensibly going over the hours but really waiting. One by one he watched his co-workers leave as he had scheduled them to until it was just him and a girl named Sophie alone in the shop. He left his office and paused. Through the front window he saw the getaway car pull up and he watched Tom get out of it wearing a balaclava and holding a shotgun. Tom advanced on the store with all the fortitude of a soldier storming Omaha beach. He opened the door, stepped inside, and shot a round into the ceiling causing a chunk of plaster to be blasted from the roof with deafening force. Tom stepped towards Ravi, holding out the bag, and pointing at the safe. Just as Ravi had planned. As Ravi started to fill the bag an alarm blared out from the kitchen behind them. Not at all like Ravi had planned. Tom strode forward to discover Sophie curled up on the floor next to a flashing security button. He dragged her to Ravi’s office and locked her inside it, although it would have been clear to anybody thinking rationally that she was in no condition to try anything else. He returned to where Ravi was holding the bag, in time to see Charles driving away. In the distance the sound of sirens could be heard.

“Fuck,” said Ravi. “Now what?”

“I don’t know,” said Tom.

“Here, you take these,” said Ravi, holding out the bag and the keys to his car, “I’ll distract them while you run.”

“No,” said Tom, “I’m the one with the gun. My prints are all over it. You fuck off. I’ll distract them.”

But Ravi hesitated, the very picture of indecision, “Are you sure?”

“Fucking go!” Tom yelled. And Ravi fled.

#

Now that I have recounted to you all these true and most accurate events I hesitate to write my conclusion lest I be accused of sentimentality, an egregious offence in the literary community to be sure. After all this story wasn’t about anything nearly as grand as a Napoleonic war, it was the simple story of a robbery gone wrong. But as this chapter draws to a close I think that the reader might find it interesting to know how I came to be in possession these facts. Rest assured though, I will enlighten you with as few words as possible knowing that by now the reader has more important things to do and is becoming tired of all this pretentiousness.

I met Ravi in a bar in some tropical shithole that my magazine felt compelled to send me to. We were the only people there, besides the bartender, so it was natural that we should start up a conversation. He must have been in his late thirties by that time although he looked as if he had been chewed up by the sun. After the usual small talk had been talked (and I had purchased several drinks for him) he described to me the events which I have now described to you.

“Well, what happened next? How did you end up here?” I asked.

“It was pretty simple really, looking back on it,” said Ravi. “I went to see the guy who was going to launder the money for us and he, after some discussion, arranged for me to be smuggled out of the country, to a dump pretty much like this one. I meandered about for a year or two until the money ran out then I took a job as a, shall we say, flower farmer. In the beginning I felt like Count Levin scythe in hand, living a good life. But unlike old Kostya I didn’t have a mansion to return to at the end of it all. I soon got tired of it…”

“What happened to Charles and Tom?” I asked, by now in full reporter mode.

“I don’t know what happened to Charles, my guess is that he was probably arrested. And Tom? He held those bastards off,” said Ravi.

“Do you regret it?” I asked.

“It was all over too quickly for me to have any real regrets. But I’m sad about what happened to my friend,” said Ravi, then adding quietly, “… I conclude that all is well.”

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[tango-uniformed]

Viv annoys the hell out of Levi

Here’s 6 pages of shit I typed out this morning because I was thinking about how random connections are. Also trying and failing to write Levi as simultaneously cool and empty but with an underlying idk badness/darkness. Also two sentences of Felicia being rightfully mean to Viv for being disruptive in her shop.

####

At 10:00 one morning Viv and Levi found themselves on the prowl for brunch.

They walked down the street a few blocks from the apartment Madeline Calligaris had so...graciously provided the two of them. The Kennellys apartment was in the same complex, but Rain had lived in East Boston her entire life and stayed in her own place 20 minutes away despite the offer. The area was ok but it was so...Massachusetts-y and reminded Viv of when he lived there during college. Not a bad time but not the best time either. The neighborhood they were in was West Fenway, full of students and professionals.

It had been about a decade since Viv lived there and he felt very aware of how he much he had aged. Walking next to Levi didn’t help his self-esteem.

“This is ridiculous,” Levi complained. He was always talking or complaining but for some reason it came off as engaging rather than annoying. “It’s September. Why is it in the 50’s?” He was probably cold because he was wearing flip flops.

Viv felt like he did not know how to explain weather differences to a Californian and kept walking. “There’s a Starbucks coming up here in a block, want to go there?”

“No,” said Levi. A pretty older woman walked by him and she turned her head to look at him as he passed her. It was like the guy had pheromones. Levi didn’t seem to notice her.

“Dunkin?”

“I’d prefer a place that isn’t run by corporations or crowded, you feel me? If I’m staying here a while, I need a usual coffee place that’s cool.”

Nodding enthusiastically, Viv said, “It’s so cool that you care about that. Would you believe that when we drove out to find you, Bobby stopped at Chick-fil-a? It’s like, people like him even think about the consequences.”

Levi ignored him.

They passed the Starbucks, and then the Dunkins. One of the new dispensaries came up on their left side and Viv looked at it, trying to come up with conversation. Levi wasn’t into him at all, but Viv couldn’t ignore his crush on the guy, even though it was just leveling down to a friend-crush. He felt desperate to be liked by Levi.

He pointed at the dispensary. “Glad Maddy put us here instead of Baltimore.”

Levi looked up from his phone. “Yeah? I forgot it just got legalized here. Felt kindaaa worried that I’d have to buy from sketchy guys on the street like I when I was 20.” He laughed bitterly. “Good memories. Want to hear about the time I almost got kidnapped trying to buy weed in Echo Park?”

“Uhhh.”

The story Levi told lasted 5 minutes and didn’t have a point or a punch-line. It was just that he was so good-looking that whenever he went off on another one of his long nonsense stories, Viv wasn’t even annoyed. He was so involved in listening that he almost walked into a group of bleary-eyed MIT students.

“Anyways,” Levi concluded. “That’s how I learned never to tell my mom about anything dangerous I did, because I swear I almost gave her an aneurysm that night.” He laughed his peculiar bark-like and humorless laugh.

“What does she think about you moving across the country?”

“Oh, she doesn’t think much of anything. Since she passed after having an aneurysm in 2011.”

Viv could have committed seppuku in that moment. He cast his eyes around the block, desperately looking for something to keep the conversation topic away from the macabre. Even though Levi had been the one who made the joke, it still made him feel uncomfortable. And even worse, it made him briefly consider his own unstoppable mother’s mortality.

His gaze landed on a building on the corner across from them. It was a cafe, with Victorian-era looking chairs and tables outside. The sign above the door read “The King In Yellow” in ornate black lettering, and had a dragon on it. Viv grabbed Levi’s shoulder and pointed.

“Is that a True Detective reference?” Levi’s body felt warmer than most people’s, he could feel it through his floral shirt.

“Don’t touch me like that, man.” Levi brushed Viv away from him. “Want to eat there? Kind of hipster, but independent.”

“Sure,” said Viv, more embarrassed. He was a touchy person. His whole family was. His dad showed his emotions physically instead of speaking, always hugging when he was overjoyed or stomping around and slamming doors when he was angry. His mother was never shy and pulled people into dancing with her when she felt like it, and her hands were always guiding the hands of others when she taught music or art. Viv and his brothers all modeled the way they interacted with the world after them, even Will, though he wouldn’t admit it. Levi came across as an open individual, not closed off like Bobby Kennelly (who Viv knew straight away never to touch). He hoped that Levi hadn’t gotten the wrong idea. “Yeah. Sure. We want a cool, weird place, right?”

They crossed the street and went inside. The chimes that were on the door jangled discordantly.

It wasn’t a hipster cafe. It looked like Edgar Allan Poe’s ghost lived there with Salvador Dali’s ghost. One wall had a huge velvet Elvis painting mounted on it. There was a Ouija board encased in a glass frame up behind the cash register, next to an inexplicable signed picture of Chris Jericho. The furniture inside was also Victorian, and in one corner there was a Yamaha upright piano with books and candles shaped like skulls all over the top. Despite the discordant and slightly macabre decor, the whole place smelled like freshly baked bread and strong coffee.

The glass displays contained a beautiful assortment of French breads, croissants, and a few types of pastries that Viv didn’t recognize. From what he could tell, it all looked pretty serious and professional.

There were some people socializing and drinking coffee, but not many. The single greasy teenage barista looked up at Levi and Viv dully. “Oh shit,” he said, whistling slightly due to the braces that were straightening his sharp teeth.

It took a second for them to recognize him from their ill-fated McDonald’s trip with Rain from one week ago. He was the one who had covered for them all as they tried to get her magic under control.

“You,” said Levi. “McFlurry boy. What are you doing here?”

“I got fired because of you dickheads,” said the greasy little barista. He was wearing a nametag that said ‘Cyrus’. “Apparentlyyy spraying frozen yogurt all over a store accidentally on purpose to distract everyone from a lady who’s about to explode is frowned upon by management. It sucks here, I can’t steal chicken nuggets anymore.”

Viv wondered if this was a loose end that they would need to kill for Rain. He didn’t want to kill a teenager. Maybe Rain could kill her own loose end. Her cool gay lawyer seemed like he could easily get her out of any problem. He had already sprung her from prison even though she had...done whatever it was she did.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” said the barista, Cyrus. It didn’t seem like this establishment required a uniform, because he wore a NASA t-shirt under a black apron. “Did that lady explode? I have an uncle who works for the OVA so I’ve heard all kinds of stories about people dying because they didn’t get their magic or whatever checked out.”

“She didn’t explode,” said Viv, looking over his shoulder at the other customers. He conspicuously pulled out his wallet. “Thank you and could I get a caramel macchiato and a croissant?”

“Decaf green tea latte,” said Levi.

Cyrus rolled his eyes and got to work.

They sat down near the piano, because when Viv had the chance, he always sat near pianos. He missed his own baby grand, which was sitting in a storage unit back in Baltimore with the rest of his stuff. Maddy had told them all that she would take care of it. “Logistics,” she had said. “It’s what I do.” And she had laughed. Viv hoped that she would get on the ball soon.

“This is nice,” said Levi.

“Yeah,” said Viv. He drank his coffee, which was surprisingly good. The croissant was excellent. “What is it, a 15 minute walk away? We could all meet here when Maddy sends us a job.”

Levi was lounging in his chair. There was no better word for it. He was the most relaxed person Viv had ever met in his life. Every second he had to keep himself from staring at him. Another customer nearby stared without trying to hide it. Viv was starting to think that Levi’s variance was not limited to his sharp teeth, big ears, and strange green eyes. The man had a noticeable effect on other people. People couldn’t resist him. But Levi had never mentioned dealing with the OVA-- not that that surprised Viv, since Arlene hadn’t disclosed her abilities to them, nor had Rain.

“It’s fucked up,” said Levi. “That woman is using us somehow.”

“Yeah. It’s called a job. She put us all on payroll.”

Levi shook his head. “She wants expendable goons to clean up messes she can’t get to otherwise. I’m a good judge of people. She’s done it before. I’m only going along with this shit because I’m pissed off about someone framing me over that thing with your brother. Once that gets cleared up and I feel safe, I’m going back to L.A. I’m not abandoning my business for more than a couple months.”

It was something Viv suspected but didn’t want to believe. A month ago he had been making money off of podcasting and begging his old theatre to take him back. Now some lady came out of nowhere offering answers, a salary, and health insurance in exchange for...consultant work. He couldn’t just say ‘no’ to something like that. The Kennellys couldn’t say ‘no’ to that. Rain definitely couldn’t say ‘no’. And Levi? For all his talk, Viv knew that he couldn’t either. Even if Maddy’s intentions were sinister, she was paying up for the time being.

He decided to change the subject. “What do you want me to play?” he asked, gesturing at the piano.

“Anything?”

“For the most part.”

Levi drank the rest of his green tea latte. “Uptown Girl.”

Viv snorted and sat down at the piano, recalling Billy Joel’s 1983 classic, which didn’t seem like something Levi would choose-- but then, he couldn’t really pin down Levi’s musical taste. After a moment’s contemplation, he began to play.

He had always had a talent for music. The combination of having excellent tonal memory and being taught by his mother from early childhood lead to Viv being able to play almost anything by ear. He wasn’t that great at anything else-- bad at sports, terrible with math-- but give him a piano and he could make something beautiful. It was only when he was playing that he felt most himself. Even playing in a weird cafe beside a guy he had only known for a short time made Viv feel like he was on top of the world.

By the time he got to the 3rd stanza, the barista had made his way over to where they were sitting. “You can’t do that,” he said.

Viv stopped playing. “Why not?”

“Don’t tell me this thing’s here just for decoration,” said Levi with the air of a man who was bored and just wanted to cause trouble. He leaned over and clumsily played ‘Chopsticks’. “How am I doing?”

“You’re the next Ray Charles.” Both Viv and Levi snickered.

Cyrus looked annoyed. “Seriously, cut it out. It’s just there for open mic nights, which are Sundays at 7.”

Viv started to accompany Levi with the other part of ‘Chopsticks’. He was having a lot of fun all of a sudden, more fun than he’d had since Christian disappeared and this whole thing started. Was this what had been missing?

“I’m getting my manager,” muttered Cyrus. He slouched off.

“Play ‘What Does The Fox Say,’” said Levi.

“I can’t do that on the piano.”

“Play the Game of Thrones song then.”

What was with Levi’s musical tastes? Dad rock, an electronic meme song, and a HBO theme song? Who thought like that? Viv started to play. By this time, everybody else in the cafe was staring at them.

Before he even reached the middle of the song, a young Indian woman in a flour covered black apron marched over to them, and without saying a word slammed down the fallboard. It almost mashed Viv’s fingers. He held his arms up to his chest protectively and looked at her in shock.

“Thanks for your little performance,” said the woman, evidently Cyrus’s manager since he was trailing behind her like a hyena. She was short and overweight, with heavy dark make-up and an angry look about her. “The piano is off limits to customers except during open mic.”

Viv couldn’t even say anything. He kept thinking about how he just narrowly missed getting his fingers lopped off for no reason. Usually when he was rude in public spaces, service workers remained subservient and didn’t try to maim him. Levi looked like he found the whole thing hysterical; he hid his sharp smile behind one hand.  

“Can I get anything else for you?” asked the woman. Her name tag said ‘Felicia’. She smiled tightly, her black lipstick garish on her round pretty face.

“Can I speak to your boss?” whined Viv, taking a page out of his mother’s book. She would always complain in order to get her way at restaurants and shops.

Felicia kept smiling. “I’m the boss here,” she said. “I’m the owner of this establishment.”

“Oh shittttt,” said Cyrus from behind her.

“Will you get back to work?” Felicia snapped at him. The barista scuttled off. She turned back to Viv. “So what can I do for you, sir?”

For a second, both Viv and Levi were speechless. The entire cafe was staring at them as they, two adult men, got owned by a couple of service workers.

“We were just leaving,” Levi said tactfully. He stood up and held out his hand. “Thanks so much for the coffee, Ma’am, it was perfect.”

Viv walked out without making eye contact. “What just happened?” he muttered. “Did we just lose?”

“I didn’t lose. You looked like a real idiot though.”

“Great,” said Viv. “We can never go back there again.”

They of course, would go back again. And again. And again. Once you find a place like that, you don’t just forget about it.