Prose
Spookby RC Edrington I am in the Wagon Wheel Bar shooting bank-eight with a bunch of "just off the Greyhound from the midwest assholes" and a few "just released from the county jail fools".
You can always tell when a chick has just finished her time in "county". Her face is fuller, and those 3 squares a day drape the bones with puffs of skin. After a few beers they are more than willing to drag you back to your crib, take a long hot shower (that for the first time in months stays hot), toss the pretense of mindless conversation into the trash can along with the ripped Trojan package, then suck your cock like it is going out of style. Listen up my brothers in the cause, freshly sprung chicks are the best fuck around. I guess months of licking that stale jail pussy must get old.
Anyway, I was up about 50 bills on this black guy (I only include the color of the brothers skin because it seemed a hell of a lot more important to him then it did to me) and he makes this 3 rail bank shot on the 4 ball. Un-fucking believable shot. I hit a sip of Cuervo and say, "Spooky damn shot, man".
"What the fuck you say, motherfucker?"
I said "that was a spooky fucking shot, man".
Then he gets in my face like I just spit on his bitch, and says..."you got a problem with spooks?" And I am like, what the fuck is this dudes problem. Then it hits me. Spook is one of those politically incorrect code words us white folks aren't suposed to use in the wrong company. Fuck that lame ass bullshit. People are people. Assholes are assholes...and I sure the fuck don't plan to waste my time sorting them out by something as trivial as skin color.
"You got a problem with me, motherfucker?" he spits into my face. At 6'2" and 225 lbs, I am not used to anyone getting that close to my face unless they are female, ready to reem my mouth out with the tip of their tongue, and have tits that cushion my chest before I actually feel their lips slam into my own.
I figure the brother is pissed to be down the 50 bills. If he wants to toss the race card because he can't hold his booze, I figure I may as well oblige him and drop the "N" bomb. "No nigger. I don't have a fucking problem with you, but if you don't take your shit out of my face they're gonna be picking pieces of your nappy ass off the felt for the next three weeks."
Before he swung on me, Shiela nailed the asshole with a cue stick in the back of the head. Shiela is now back in "county" for assault. I told her to tread light on the fucking desserts and carbohydrates. Fuck that puffy skin bullshit. Shiela's got a body that peels paint off the fucking walls and an ass that makes grown men feel weak in the knees like a 15 year old kid fumbling through his first stroke mag.
For the record, Sheila's black. Been banging her ass for the last 4 months. I guess we're a "thing". The last time she did a month in county for DUI, I kept my little dick in my jeans. On 6th Avenue, that's the closet thing you get to a relationship. Sheila knows I don't have a racist bone in my body. Two months ago I busted her brother up pretty good and left him in Kino Hospital. Seems he wasn't too hip to the fact his baby sister was dating a white guy. At this point, I am not too sure what the fuck love is, but I figure busting up a chicks brother must go along way to proving some kind of loyalty.
Anyway, call me what you will. There isn't a motherfucker on this goddamn planet big enough to define my language and tell me what words I can or can't use. That 3 rail bank shot was one hell of a spooky shot. Not my problem the nigger couldn't take a compliment.
©2003 RC Edrington
Published in: Babel Magazine 10/03