"Be not afraid of greatness; some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them."

-William Shakespeare

Monday, November 15, 2010

Snippet.

justa snippet from muh book, Kids with Cigarettes . ;]

Then we heard a loud, obnoxious, voice as we noticed bright headlights at the end of the Lot. There was an aqua blue Ford Thunderbird at the curb.

14.

          “You see any, Gary?! You see any of those- (hiccup) those hoods?!” “No. I don’t think so.”
          “Who’s-,” I began, but before I could say another word Joey interrupted me. “Get back! Get back to the corner,” he whispered over in a strained serious voice. I slide back to the corner hidden behind the Cadillac. Joey slowly slid his honey colored guitar to me. “Don’t move okay,” he said, crouched down on one knee behind the front tire. “But Joey-,” I began. “Do not move, Lily. I don’t know where your from but there’s a lot of things around here you might not get.” He sighed annoyed and said, “Around here you look out for yourself and your pals, that’s it. And Dollies like you shouldn’t be out at an hour like this. I’m so sorry,” he said; his eyes a blaze in the slant light. His whole demeanor changed, all of them change when they’re around them. But who cares about what I think, right.
          Then Joe popped his collar up, stood and walked to the middle of the Lot with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, slouching. And suddenly the Lot got a scary movie-like quality. I went to the edge of the car and anxiously watched.
Three of them got out of the car, with it still running and the headlights beaming. “Hey punk,” the guy in the middle said. He was tall with red hair parted on the side, wearing a letterman’s sweater and khakis. A crooked smirk was on rough, menacing face. The one on his right was wearing one too. “Gary,” Joey said, combing back his hair nonchalantly. “So where’s your big bad gang? And isn’t it a little late for you to be out, ankle-bitter,” he asked pinching Joey’s cheek. Joey slapped his hand away and punched him in the shoulder before he could react at all. They all seemed a bit drunk. The one on the right shoved Joey to the dirt. “Joey,” I whispered uneasily, but he didn’t hear me. “How about you get an egg and beat it,” Joey said getting up and spitting at their feet.
          “Hear that, Gary?! He wants us to leave! You hear that Gary,” the small one on the left piped in with some cheap beer in his hand. Do they really don’t have anything else to do, but to come over here and start trouble?  “Yeah, I hear’um, Tommy,” he said snatching the beer from him and greedily drinking the rest; the guy didn’t say a word. “If you nosebleeds think you can come to any part of town in your mommy-ironed lettermen’s and shiny daddy-bought cars and rule without a peep you’re dead wrong,” Joe spat.
The one on the right’s face turned cherry bright red with anger, and the Tommy kid had his mouth open in aw. “Looks like someone needs to get a little roughed up,” the one on the right said immediately, rolling up his sleeve. Joe pulled out his pocket knife quick from his back pocket, the blade glistening in the night. He stood back a little in a staggered step. “Hey Larry,” Gary said with a smirk across his freckled face; holding up his arm to stop him. “Cool it gentlemen; no need to go ape. We’ll cut out, kid,” he said laughing. Gosh, his laugh was disgusting, and annoying. “For your sake kid, we’ll cut out.” “I’ll be seeing you,” Joe said sternly, looking dead into Larry’s furious eyes. Gary pulled him to the car, still laughing. And they finally drove off. 

          I immediately ran to Joey, and hugged him. “Joey!” He laughed. “Why do you have to be so stupid, huh,” I demanded; slapping him in the back of the head as I hugged him tight around the neck. He laughed. “I don’t know.”
          “Gosh Joey, I almost had a heart attack back there! You greasers and your egos,” I said jokingly wagging my finger. He laughed. I loved making him laugh, though I was actually serious. “Yeah,” he agreed. There was a bit of an awkward silence, and then he suddenly said, “I’m sorry about before. Uh- I didn’t mean to sound… you know- you know… rude I guess.” “It’s cool,” I said very cavalier. I usually am the one to shrug-off anything, well most things. “Cool,” he agreed, excessively nodding. He grabbed my hand and we started down the sidewalk. It was awfully quiet, except for the occasional dry scraping of dead leaves against the pavement.
          “I see why most girls aren’t greasers,” he said as we walked with the soft golden light of the floating streetlights above. “Why is that,” I asked yawning with shallow curiosity. “Because you guys are natural born worriers! You guys have your cute panties in a bunch before the big rumble even starts!” I laughed, tossing my head back like in an old ‘40’s movies where the girl in some dazzling evening dress, bold lipstick, and tight curls laughs at some joke some guy says that I never get. “It’s true,” he exclaimed. “Well I guess that is somewhat true, but I guess it’s our job. I think everyone needs someone to worry about them. If more people had people to worry about them, I don’t know,” I shrugged almost drunkenly; drunk in the sweet night air, in the stars. He stared at me and laughed. I was tired.

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