« The Story Behind Tim's Shirt | Main | State of the Rob 07092008 »
July 08, 2008
Batesville Installment Nine
Bob and Paul walk through the door, entering the room filled with pounding bass, gunshots and explosions, smoke, and a smell somewhere between piss and vomit. Paul can’t help but comment, “God damn it fuckin’ stinks in here, Earl. You gotta air this shit out.”
Earl looks up from his video game and just nods in the pair’s direction. “’Sup, guys. Pop a squat while I finish this shit up.”
Bob looks down at the filthy couch covered in animal hairs and…stains, and ponders if he should take the offer to sit. Before he can make up his mind Paul takes point and throws out, “We’re cool standing, yo.”
“Whatev,” replies Earl, busy pushing the buttons on the game controller. The guy playing against Earl, whose name escapes Bob’s memory, cackles while playing the shooter game. “Fuck you, man.”
“So, uh, we’re here to pick up our shit, Earl,” interjects Bob.
Earl doesn’t even bother to respond, busy being focused by the flickering lights coming from his television. The three roaches in the ash tray clues Bob in that Earl’s stoned off his gourd again. Still. Perpetually. Bob doesn’t care, he just wants to get the hell out of here. The guys who hang out in this house make him more nervous than Earl himself, which says a lot.
Two men walk from the back of the house, both holding guns. “Hey, whoa, what the fuck’s going on, man?,” asks Paul, stepping backwards toward the door.
“Calm down, motherfucker. Sheeeit,” says Earl, still not looking away from the game, “These two just off to do some business for me. We had someone narc on us, gotta get that shit cleared up.” He looks away from the game following a beep that indicates he paused it. “You fools know what’s up, right.”
“You know we do, nigga.” It cracks Bob up listening to these white boys talking this way. This is the MTV generation at its finest. The two thugs walk past Bob and Paul, sneering at Paul as they pass. “’Sup.”
“For real, Earl, we gotta get our shit and get going,” says Paul, anxious to get out of this place.
“Shit ain’t here,” replies Earl, playing the game again.
“Do what now?”
“Shit ain’t here. I gotta go pick it up. Y’all might as well come with, you can buy it at my cost.”
Bob and Paul look at each other, trying to read their respective faces. Paul shrugs his shoulders, then Bob does the same. “Alright. When we headin’ out?”
“After a bit. I’m muthafuckin’ hungry up in this bitch. We’ll stop to get some foods on the way,” says Earl, then sits up straight, angrily yelling at his playmate, “Damn, nigga!”
To which his compatriot giggles again, “Blew yo ass up!”
Earl looks up at Bob and Paul, “You guys hungry?”
“We can eat, yeah,” replies Bob. Bob takes in the scene again, looking around. Earl’s either in his early thirties or late twenties, it’s hard to tell with the lifestyle he’s leading. He’s making a shit ton of money, but blows it all on stupid stuff like video games and stereo equipment, or on the fast food and take-out containers that litter the tiny house. “When we heading out to get that?”
“Gotta wait on those two fool muthafuckas to get back, then we’ll go. Shouldn’t take them long to find that squealin’ bitch.”
Posted by Schamberger at July 8, 2008 09:43 AM