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About

"Welcome to my head. My thoughts, dreams and pretty much anything else that gets blurbed out."

I got 99 problems...

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Shit. Morning already?

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP *SLAM*


"Errmmfff, fuck. I get it already..."

I need coffee if I am going to keep doing this.



Day in and day out it's the same damn thing. Five forty five a.m. in this godless country and already there is some jerk playing drums in the courtyard while a bunch of other assholes all yell, "YA!" in unison.


uhg.

They say it's supposed to be good for the body and soul, but clearly they've never heard of sleeping in. Oh well.


And what the fuck is that smell? Always with the damn smell...

I dragged my wrinkled carcass out of bed, grabbed my silk cheap shit robe from the bedpost and made my way to the bathroom.


48 years old, and I wake up this sluggish? I'm never going to make it to retirement. .. ... heh.

Normally peeing isn't so hard, I hate this place it's getting the body able to squat without falling over backwards that's the hard part. I manage it, pull the cord and walk back through my room to go make my coffee.


Shave? Nah. Fuck it. Day off.

I un-pinch the hose tapped to my faucet and let the water poor into the boiler. Damn thing has been broken for months, and if I knew how to yell at my landlord, i'm sure it would have been fixed by now.


ahh well. 

I open the freezer, grab the coffee and start to fill the filter.


Two scoops, and then I poops. Thanks Granddad. 

My apartment isn't much, but they said it would be good for hiding, and i'm inclined to believe them. I wouldn't look for anyone in a neighborhood like this one. I'm pretty sure everyone in this damn building fucking drums is using some kind of opiate. It's got a bedroom, living room and this poor excuse for a kitchen. I mean, the thing doesn't even have a counter top!


I open the door to grab the menus and other litter that accumulates every morning on my doorstep, and notice one of the neighbors staring at me again. This time, she just stands there in her doorway, all wrinkled and judging me. I swear, if the woman realized that she was less than five feet tall she wouldn't give me the stink eye.

Screw her. She prolly knows karate or some shit. wuld'v kicked my ass anyways.

As always I put on my best smile riiiight and wave my useless papers at her, as if she understands the social gesture anyways, and close the door.


Being on the third floor has always been kind of nice, seeing as how I don't have to deal with all the kids knocking on the first floor doors and running off.

I sit down in my chair, and as my balls hit the bare musty fabric of my thirty year old lazy boy, i'm reminded that today is laundry day.

Always with the drums.

I get up and waddle back into the bedroom and begin the sacred process of pitting my dirty clothes hamper against the clothes on the floor.


*sniff* blech..

It takes me a few minutes before I realize that it's going to be a rough day. Every one of these items smells like last weeks winner, and I am pretty sure even I don't want to know if that is actual mold or just another wasabi skid mark. I grab the hamper and ...


no drums. 


My eyebrows begin to sweat and I strain my ears, praying for that sweet sound of obnoxious howling the woman downstairs calls a song.


Nothing. shit.

I move quickly to the window and peek. shouldn't have done that.


As I look into the courtyard I catch the three guys dressed in black fatigues wearing white bandannas exit the vehicle and head straight for my building. shit.


Knocking over the stack of magazines by the edge of the bed I dart for the bedside table, grab my service gun and check to make sure its loaded. Seven plus one. Good.


I dart for the door and begin regretting having picked the only apartment that wasn't attached to another building. Oh well, that's what I get for picking a place that had a roof.

Sunbathing. Who's fucking idea was that.

I listen at the door, and the sound of silence begins to make my nerves fire. There should be older people shouting at the men to leave, or some young punk trying to challenge them. Looks like my first suspicion was right. damn.


Well, two ways out. Up or down, and I sure as hell don't want to see what the guy in the car is packing. Looks like we are going up.


Only going to work if they think I'm gone, or that I went out the window.

I grab the handle and open the door slightly. Peeking out the slit I look down the open air walkway towards the stairs down and watch for moment.


Fire extinguisher.

I notice the fire extinguisher hanging on the poll directly across for my room. One of those nasty yellow ones with the big cone that shoots sand. Prolly broken.


"Shit", I say as I open the door, lean out, and grab it.


As I grab the handle and push the door most of the way closed again I hear the sound of the 5th step on the stairs creak and know that everyone on the floor just froze.

Good. That'll give me about 6 more seconds.

With the gun in my right hand and the fire extinguisher in my left I sit and watch the top step.


"First one get's it in the eye", I whisper to myself as the sweat from my eyebrows begins to beat at the corners of my eyes. Slowly I lean back and extend my arm so that the muzzle stays inside the room, and brace myself on the lamp stand.

Only gonna get one.

I check to make sure the safety is off, and wait.

Sure enough, as if the old man himself is still looking out for me, the bastards head appears at the top of the stairs looking in my direction.

BANG heh

He loses an eye and, hopefully, his life. Before I have time to realize the shitstorm I just caused myself I toss the fire extinguisher out the side window and down into the alley, breaking as much glass as possible on the way out. As the damn thing bounces back and forth between the building next door and mine, I quickly dart out the front door and, keeping low, cross the hallway to the stairs leading up, on the opposite side of the now dead gangster.


This better fucking work.

I creep up the stairs, make it to the turn, and wait. Sitting with my back against the center support of the winding walkway leading up to the next floor. Listening for the sound of them entering my apartment, seeing the broken glass, and hopefully thinking I jumped out the window.


... ....

I sit, for what seems like forever, and finally hear the sound of the door to my apartment being opened. It's one of those times I really wish I spoke the language, but i'm pretty sure I know an exclamation when I hear one. I grin to myself and begin sneaking the rest of the way up the stairs.


A few seconds later, one of the neighbors asshole begins pointing at me from across the quad on the 5th floor and shouting.

"Jig's up", I tell myself, and begin booking it up the rest of the stairs. It doesn't take long before the stillness of the apartment becomes a flurry of shouting, and in some cases projectiles. I make it to the 4th floor landing and run for the far end of the hallway. Without pausing to think of what this is about to do to older me, I slam into the door just before the next set of stairs going up, and carry myself, door and all, into the living room of some older couple. aloha... ... ha.

"Uhh.. ..ow. That wasn't the best idea.", I say as I drag myself off their door.


The man shouts something at me while reaching for his lady's wide eyed face, but I am already running for his bedroom and opening the window. I get the window open and immediately realize why the man was shouting at me. Funny that the guy wasn't so mad about me busting his door in, but the fact that I had just been standing in front of his wife with my robe completely open really hadn't entered my train of thought until the small breeze that was accompanied by opening the window decided to make it apparent.

Heh. That really was a look of shock on her face.

I look out the window and see what I was hoping to see. On this floor of the building there is one of those awnings you only see in really cheesy movies. I'm talking red and yellow faded striped cloth being held up in a very, "Please jump in me" type of cupping gesture.


I take a moment to peek back into the living room in time to see the head of a younger guy, dressed in black and wearing a white bandanna pop his head in the room. nope.

Without waiting to see the expression on his face however, I take a breath and jump out the window. Unlike the movies, I land in this cheap cloth, and sure enough, fall right through, taking the wood dowels and netting underneath with me. I fall for what feels like too long, gathering what I can only assume to be a mass of items I am about to forcefully insert into my body in ways that can only be described by looking at the box art of a game of Kerplunk™.


With a ruckus crash I land on the second worse thing you could hope to land on when not wearing underwear, a spice stall.

Seriously, who the fuck stores their spices for sale in large open wicker bowls just sitting in big piles?

I do my best to sit up and realize I look like something out of a Warhol painting.

Happy Birthday Mr. President.


I groan and begin pushing myself back to standing and hear the Bandanna head shouting at me from the window, right about the same time the knife goes whizzing past my face and sticking into some kind of fruit.

Fucking spices in my nose.

I take one last look up at the window to make sure the prick isn't going to jump after me, and take off running down the alley. Cobbled streets, carts and people are the obstacles of everyday life here, but as I run covered in earth tones, people seem to part. At first, I think it's because I am bigger than most of them, but a few seconds of running reveals why they are really avoiding me.

I Look back over my shoulder in time to see Mr. Miyagi step out of the black car and open fire into the crowd, and my back, with his ak-47.  fucking cliché.

Biting dirt as fast as I can, I lay myself out on the cobble and wait for the sound of gunfire to cease. When the micro explosions stop, I take a peek back towards the vehicle and straight into the muzzle of a rifle. 


Still in hand, and now flanked by 1 less lackey, Mr. Miyagi smooshes the rifle into my nose and says, "Our boss would like a word with you". balls.


"Oh, now you speak english", I snort.  


The lackeys, minus one, grab my arms, hall me to my feet, and begin stuffing me in their too tiny car. 


Fuck, my asshole is starting to burn. 


.... .... to be continued.





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