"Goddammit - how many is that today?" - One of my roommates, James, said his count was three. I counted four -- I then add - "Jesus, Victor is on a roll!" Victor is a rough and tumble guy who I count as one of my five roommates at the dump truck I call home. The four versus three talk was an argument brought about on how many hookers he had made acquaintance with over the weekend.
Thirty minutes or so later he walks through the living room with his third, or fourth (depending on whose count you use). - "I got it going this weekend!" - he tells us after shoving her out the door -- "I might get another one in an hour or so. It depends on how I am feeling," he says as he is heading back to his room.
James and I resume our conversation - "Have you seen that new guy lately?" I ask. "I think he got thrown in jail," he says and then adds "The cops were over here last week looking for someone. I am guessing it was him since I haven's seen him around." The dump I call home and the dump next door is owned by a China man named Bruce Lee (I kid you not that is his real name). Any way, it is hardly uncommon to see Metro parked outside banging on the door looking for someone.
"Shall we drink his beer? He's not going to miss it if he's in jail," James made a sensible comment. A twelve pack of Budweiser had been cooling in the fridge for the last week and a half - That's a world record around the shit hole I call home. We promptly guzzle a few beers from the twelve pack and James says - "Hold on, I see Fred," he grabs a shoe from the floor and in one fluid motion rises and obliterates a cockroach that was crawling on the wall -- "That makes five of those bastards I have killed today," he chuckles. He sets back down and we continue our conversation.
"Goddammit - this place is a shit hole," I stammer. He rolls his eyes and says, "I am going to start calling you Mr. Fancy Pants. If you don't like this dump - why don't you move someplace else? Oh, that's right - You are a broke ass motherfucker. Looks like you are stuck!" We began laughing after his statement and then I tell him to toss me another beer - "Here you go Mr. Fancy Pants," he tosses me a cold can of Bud and adds, "Will regular Budweiser be enough for you or should I run down to Mexican market and get you some craft beer to drink?"
We are down to the last beers of the twelve pack and I hear a knock at the door - "Goddammit," James says in a half slurred tone, "Answer the fucking door." I get up from the couch and open it -- "Is Victor here?" a Puerto Rican girl in a tight black miniskirt is standing at the entrance - "You know the way," I tell her as I wave her in. She smiles and starts the trek back to his room. Once she is out of earshot I spurt - "Goddammit - this place is not only a shit hole. It's a fucking whore house as well!" -- James nods in agreement.
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