Slow-n-Low 2021
(Fade in from darkness...)
Apaline, Henley, and Dimitri decided to leave the club early. Covid-19 was successfully sucking the fun out of everything, damn there. Aside from the deadly pandemic, they all had a busy schedule slated for the next day. Dimitri kept snowflakes.
Apaline could've been a model. She could have been a super model.
"I've been on this fucking social media too long. This trip is, too long. I'm hungry, but I've neglected my cardio workout for the last couple of days. The hardest part about staying in shape is actually going to the gym, on schedule."
Henley has some comebacks for your ass. "A salad is always a nice change of pace. No promises; no demands. I learned to make a Walnut Cranberry salad a while back. It's pretty good."
"The cranberries are good. I don't think they're real fruits. They're too healthy. Fruits are natural sugar. Are they supposed to be so healthy? You eat a fruit, and you piss better. Who the fuck figured that out?"
"I use spring mix for the lettuce leaves. I have big chunky nuts. I think there's some dressing in there, too ."
"Henney, that shit is probably old as fuck! Haha. Don't try to get rid of some old ass dressing with me. Shits all extra thick. That's not how dressing is supposed to look. You better chef-ramsey that crap. Now that I think about it, Thousand Island dressing looks like vomit. Red wine and beer vomit. Pepperoni pizza vomit. Haha. Salad actually has a putrid smell."
Henley enticed, "Almost like old ground beef. Hamburger. Maybe a triple double. No fries, onion rings, girl. Give me a shake, and extra sauce on the side. Na' mean?"
"I should log on to (fuck my order up at mcd dot com) and place a bet. Fuck fast food, that shit is trash." Apa 8 smiled.
They found themselves thinking about thinking. Some things are worth thinking about, while other things seem to be so elusive that the best thinkers of the world can't grasp that particular concept.
Aside from it all, and through the fog, there was a nonchalant frisky little breeze.
Being Apa 8, she felt like being Apa 8.7. She felt empty. It was starting up again. She felt like she deserved a beat down. Slut-dirty was her pretty name. Butt-hurry was her quiet time game. Vagy-tushy, long finger the booshy-gooshy...haha. All she could muster was...
"I'm very, fucking high. That is not the same grade as before, baby boy."
"Apa, quit laughing before you make me start cheesing and shit, like one of your bitches. I gotta give this to you, dough. You get some bad bitches passing through here sometimes, witch, yo-dike ass," Hen 9 called it.
They smacked hands like it was a bet. Eye contact, squeeze, and shake. A loud smack, too. 8 pushed herself down in between, really quickly, in his peripheral vision.
"You'd no it, punk ass," grinned Apa 8.
Wasn't she, Apa 8,...
...standing in a huge parking lot, she thought to herself?
If I'm flying where are my car keys, he, Hen 9, reasoned to himself?
"I, I, I. Would you, you, you... Huh, huh, huh, me, me, me..." Henley was faded.
"Just pass out." The Russian came walking up to them, shaking his keys. "Pass out, dude," his supposed friend kept saying. "Drugs are great toys."
"Fffern asshole."
"Yebat tebya," he howled jokingly.
They seemed down. When they hit bottom he was prepared to kick the fuck out of them. He felt offended that they thought him to be one of their own.
"Lala-Americans."
Slam! The cacaphonic reverberations blanketed the parking lot.
Their disturbing mumblings repeated. They took place in parallel time with the hands on the clock.
Apa 8 began to regain her consciousness. She patted herself down like an awkward police officer and found a cigarette. Now, she had to find her lighter that always turned up in the last place she figured it would be. A grimy, disgusting, rat head was laying on the...
"No, it's not." Apa 8 got a grip on herself.
Flick flick...
"Menthol is wonderful," she speculated, as the dark cloud ascended into the sky.
She looked at her watch and began to go over the events in her head.
Apaline: (Thinking) We still have enough time to jump in the fucking pool. Why the fuck is this bastard still so full of energy. I knew he was some sort of weird ass. I'll have this fucking faggot with nowhere to go. She lightly tongued her finger. "Punk."
Instantly, as if he'd been patiently waiting for his cue, Dimitri put her in a choke hold. He keekeed a little.
"Not me, no punk, not me." Dimitri gave a squeeze.
He cranked the hold a bit. He tilted her into his drug-induced bulge.
Hen 9 was gone.
Apa 8 didn't squirm, or grunt sweetly. She had a look that said, give it to me exactly how you want it.
Dimitri, blushing, let her go. He felt like a coward, now. A coward with a hard-on, though. He had a look like, he knew she was evil and he might cum, too.
"Hoe." Dimitri liked that word. Antiquated yet fitting.
Apaline took off toward the pool. The Russian chased her.
Dimitri yelled, "Bitch, don't forget to call Low, first."
Raitlin was on the brink. Her apartment management seemed to take pride in evicting her. The economic meltdown was securing its effects on her pockets. She spoke to her friends about making money online. Raitlin took a referral.
Bentlee the Chinaman, knew of her. He picked her up, and gave her the details.
"Cao ni", 操你.
"What?!" Raitlin seemed confused.
Bentlee, The Chinaman, responded, "Take a bath."
Raitlin: (Thinking) She is off the streets for a day, or at least part of the day. A bath is golden.
Chinaman spoke through the door.
"As we discussed in the car, you have an option to work online. We have an office space opened up. You become all American chat girl. Go viral, or some shit, ride. You likeable, you get paid."
Lin emerged from the bath. She could hear her clothes in the washer.
"I wasted my time with a punk, once before."
"Take another bath, no questions," Bentlee ordered.
"Kay, baby." Lin requested some shampoo.
An unusually happy lady came down the hallway. She looked like she was a hotel janitorial staff person.
"Neutragena. Very good." Raitlin gestured at the lady searching for a smile in return.
She hoped she could sit in a room all day, or night, and chat. How long would it be until she was found by her old boss, her man, her stalker, possibly her killer? She searched inside herself for some feelings on the subject. Nothing.
After the lady gave her clean clothes back, she was introduced to the secretary. She was going to have an interview. The Chinaman recommended that she not lie to her. If she had any issues, she should be true.
"Honesty is the best policy around here. Reassuringly, I'll be leaving but you would find me next door."
He proceeded to dial Low's number. He left the message.
Raitlin felt weird because the building seemed to be a shopping center that was all connected together. It was also brand new. There was also no store there. That was simply a front.
Knox stepped out of a popular restaurant on a quiet evening.
Knox, K 7, dreamed of becoming the climax to his own story.
"How long has it been 7?" He peered at his cell phone reflection encrusted behind the apps. "How long has it been since I've been respected as an individual?"
Knox had always felt like a number, not a person. As fitting as the wrongly placed label may seem...
"This sum bullshit. It hurts," muttering to himself. "When will they understand who we are? Why is that people look through me like a glass window? I enjoy everything about being online. The screens aren't breathing, but they stare at onlookers with a curious expression. They offer, in return, a dark, eyeless shadow of themselves. The reserve instructions, given by an unknown party, are an intricately detailed option as opposed to just simply an order to stay in line. Even if some foreign douche decides to show his self online it doesn't seem real. I can recognize deepfake."
As he walked past the mirror he looked at it and smiled to himself.
"I love this."
Simultaneously, a passerby looked in response to a strange under the breath comment.
"What it is, asswipe? Nosey ass bastards!"
At that moment, two men dressed in black barreled out of the bushes with two guns. It was happening too fast to perfectly see the weapons, though. K 7 glanced around 360°. No witnesses. Almost like tryouts for a professional football team, he cut right , left, three steps, sprinted all out. If they weren't prepared to shoot, then, too fucking bad. Shoulder first, then head up.
He didn't stop as all of his weight scooped the aggressive person up.
He chopped at the back of his legs. The dude's head smacked the pavement. He isn't going to get up in time to help his partner. He shoulder rolled over his victim's face. He accepted a kick, and snatched an ankle, simultaneously. The aggressor was familiar with the move. He swiveled. K 7 was on his feet, now. No onlookers. Cool.
Yap! Yap! Two pistol shots.
He zig zagged the fuck out of there. No more shots. The aggressive is on the defensive. Knox made the block perimeter. Just as fast as it started, it was over. Breathing through the nose and out of his mouth, he was absent of any look that could be a giveaway.
It was vaguely familiar that there was nothing left on the street. The street seems to always tell its own story really quietly. If you look, there's a million things on the ground. Pieces of car from a car wreck, somebody's hair, old ass jewelry, empty bags, beer can lids, toys, gravel, and other bullshit.
There are old signs from stores that closed a long time ago. On sale signs, that faded from working overtime are still there. The signs are serving as forget-me-nots for the old owners.
Then, he saw a bullet casing. He scavengered around for the second round and found it. He pocketed both of them and walked off happy that there was no trace of anything that had just never taken place. In this case, you have to make up something and believe it is as if it were true. Believe your own lie. That's the only thing that makes a lie believable. Just remember not to alter your own memory. That lie could become reality. Keep the real shit to yourself.
All this was passing through his head as he made the block to his own car. The car seemed happy to see him. It's the fob in his pocket. Once he opened the door the personalized greeting spoke to him.
"Take me home," he said. The car responded with a computer like, "okay."
Out of all the cars he'd had, self-driving is on another level. He's just waiting for the computer to get road rage. Its so relaxing to sit and fuck with his phone or whatever until he pulls up in front of the house. His car tells him, "We're here." It's not new, but it's new to him. He even paid for a self-closing door. He just gets out of the car and walks off. At home, the car has three saved places where he can park.
"Spot number one." The car slowly creeps away.
He jumped in the shower and threw his clothes in the washing machine. After they're clean he's going to throw them in the trash. He would burn them, but the maid might see that as a bit unusual. It might be something for her to remember.
He already has an idea of who shot at him. He messaged Low, on time, needless to say.
Rysace Ubered over to the dealership. There it was. The car was high-tech. Hi-Tech enough for the presence of a button. A few buttons, gaming type, to be exact. The untamed villain could crawl ultra ninja silent or surge into a pure screaming muscle rage.
How much crap can you shove under the hood? Rysace smirked. Then, he tapped his wallet, simultaneously.
Rysace: (Thinking) "These jerks might need an arm, a leg, and the tip of my dickhead."
The saleswoman lerched from peripheral view, suited to match the aura of the car.
Rysace: (Thinking) Dangerously, fine ass, bitch wants to ask me something. If she were to drop to her knees and let me smack her in the face with naked meat, shot would go viral, broad."
Enlightened, the saleswoman chimed in. "So, are you looking to make monthly payments? We have a nice leasing contract. Great mileage, and maintenance package, too"
"Is that so...," he grinned. "I'm Rysace, but they like Sace instead. I have some add-ons, so I'd have a flat bed pick it up and take it straight to my stereo company."
"So, it seems like you've already made a choice?
"Yes, no mistake about it. I was online for damn there 3 weeks. I found her. I had to go get her. Now, me and her are a pair. I never meant to hurt her. But, I'm sending her away. I want her to get better."
"Would you please stop, it's just a car." She was touching amused.
"Yeah, right now it is. That's why I'm sending her away."
Sexy fine leaned in deceptively close, with a European accent, "Are you Batman?"
"Nooo, but I bet you would make a serious fucking Harley Quinn."
Sexy fine comes back with, "All of that chit chat is going to get you hurt. Mister Jay is not far from you, brother." She winked her eye like a true Harley Quinn could.
"Oh, fuck you in the ass, then you sound just like her."
"Only for our VIPs, bb." She crossed her legs while standing, and faced the window at a perfect angle. The angle made Sace see her as a lifeless pale, with black lipstick on.
He started to walk away and told her to check her email.
"All of the information is there. I'll have someone check on the details, later. Thanks. When the car is done I'm coming back to you to give you a ride."
The automatic sliding doors had opened and closed before she could respond. Rysace made the call. He hung up after leaving a message.
Mila didn't like being in a situation where he had to rely on others to finish a project.
Mila spoke harshly, "There has to be a way out. If there is no way out of it I'll make damn sure there's a way out of it. If I have to bulldoze this bitch, these fuckheads will get the fuck out of my way."
Heidi was frightened to hear him talk like that. Yet, she understood that he had no choice. How he pulled a trick out of the bag, she did not know. But, she enjoyed all of it.
"What the fuck are you doing? Let's go. Don't say shit!
If you don't know shit you're not liable for shit. This isn't a fucking movie if I feel like you are a worthless ass liability, I'll kill you my fucking self. Truthfully, you'd rather have me dump you, rather than let those nasty fucks pussy rape you, and turn you into a hooker. Then, they turn their back on you when you stop making money. Some sicko fuck murders you anyway."
Heidi dim wittedly displayed the same pistol he gave her not too long ago. "How about I pop a cap in your ass?"
Mila slept her...
It's not hard to K.O. something that delicate. He slung her over his shoulder like an old t-shirt. He grabbed the duffle with the other hand. "OK Google, call Low."
When the phone rang he made his phone play a ringtone, then he hung up. He couldn't help sneaking a peek at her butt cheek. Yeah, she's coming. He wasn't going to kill her, today.
Slow was at home. He'd found some alone time.
Slow looked around the room. He wasn't looking for anything. The questionable look was thought-provoking action. He aimed at home row and proceeded to type at 170 words per minute.
It's difficult for them to understand a real problem. Everything they've known, cared about, and experienced is a game.
If you can pay for it, they have it. That is their leverage. Materialism. Fake. Plasticity. They don't value having a soul. Feel better to make someone else feel worse. Hatred is a conduit. Atheism is a conduit. Wealth is a conduit. Their whole personality says -what the fuck haven't I done before-, and it really shows. They're celebrities in their own world. They feel like there's something wrong if somebody doesn't know them. Weird shit is normal and normal shit is weird. One goal of theirs includes waiting to kick you when you're down.
The automated computer alarm told him to call Low.
Cang and his men met at the loft. The agenda was covered with the rundown of the events from the previous evening.
"Cang, who was completely overpowered?!"
"I told you, the guy hit him, and the guy felll like a curtain off of a walmart curtain rod," Cang responded.
"You're full of shit. Stop fucking lying!"
"We all took off before anything else happened. Dude jumped on top of him, and processed his face. It was some sort of fucking rage. No one wants to go to jail behind that shit. We're all leery about being here, anyfuckinway."
"I told you that fucking chip was on some other level."
"I don't even think it'll be in the news. I mean who really cares about that sort of shit. Some foreign ass bastards fucking around, and somebody got their face massaged. Haha. What do they call that shit, deep-tissue like a motherfucka."
"Man, shut the fuck up! What the fuck is so funny? Can you ever be fucking serious?"
"Who's fucking laughing? How can I make this seem serious when you cuss like we're still in the goddamn Hood. Did you ever read about Don King, when he mashed that dude's face?"
"You can't answer a question with a question. Now, he's trying to present me with a sad story? You always have some fraud story like the grim reaper standing next to you."
"Why?"
"That's some wshh type shit."
"Right. Heavy-R, like a mufucka."
"That'll be the last place you want to see that shit on some fucking social-ass media. Keep on fucking around."
"I suppose I got one more time, huh."
"Bitch, I'll drop you right here." Cang got cold.
In the background, instigators did their thing. "But, you won't whoop that mufucka?"
The camouflaged pistol was introduced. "I'm high right now. You real-lucky I don't just knock your head off your shoulders."
Haha, "That's what old boy shoulda did before he got his gotdamn face mashed in the pavement."
The group stirred up and laughed in a uniform, yet defiant manner. They all knew, very well, how the situation had evolved. Since they were in a foreign place, the situation was on their side. The environment doesn't want them there. When they decide to disappear, none the wiser. Foreigners are always doing something abnormal, right? Either, theyre unnecessarily getting high, or they're getting loud with some who'cloud that nobody understands. All they had to do was hold it down. It wasn't that easy, though. It was like being put in a cage match with a trained champion brawler that didn't even realize he was slipped something, and high out of his mind. Yeah, they can hold it down, but that's not the problem.
Duke had traveled for a few hours from the airport in order to find Seo. Seo greeted him with, "Man, check this out."
"Seo, how come you never thought about MIT?"
"In my foot my what? I would just be paying bills all the fucking time. Do you see this shit. We're overseas and I've never even had a fucking social security card."
"Yeah, I completely and utterly understand," Duke spitefully matched wits. "You brought me over here for a wedding. You're not even close to being married. Why do I feel like you fucked me. Even though we're not in America I'm sort of related to this fucking shit now. I'm a goddamn accessory. Why did it not ever cross your mind that I would shoot you right in the fucking face for fucking up my life?"
"Whoa bro. Pump your brakes, son. Count this out."
Out of nowhere he flips out a money counter.
There were boxes everywhere. It reminded him of working at Amazon. He had to count it a second time. He had to count it a third time.
"Oh, so now you can buy a motherfucker. I told you I'm an expensive bitch. Haha. Nice though very, very nice touch. This will pay for some shit right here. Let me think for a minute."
"No problem. No motherfucking problems. He peered at his phone. I just saw those two fucking bitches jump in the water. Nearest cock with cash money. Sounds like they're calling my name. Seo, come fuck us! Attempting to post-baby. I'll be in the pool when you're done thinking." Seo walked like a fucking pimp.
"All right. OK Google, call Low." When the phone rang, he played his own ringtone and then hung up.
Simon found the location that made a perfect fit into his financial puzzle. He was lucky.
Simon found it difficult to find another way to be motivated. The new house to move into was right on point. All of the boxes were checked. The only thing he'd rather not go for was actually moving all the stuff.
He sipped his caffeine. He gave an overly obnoxious slurp.
He realized they're actually hoarding! He'd had too much caffeine this morning. Too late though, he had already popped open three trash bags. Fishy goes, that goes, old shit goes, that's new.
"Hmmm, what the fuck?"
Eww, that shit goes, definitely. Old magazines, dirty ass shirts, outdated jeans, too used sneakers-I'd feel dumb if eBay sent me some shit like that, broke gadgets I'm not going to fix, and that makes two bags full. I haven't made a trip to the mall in a while. I guess some lucky bastard will have to find some nice shit in Goodwill. All these awkward fitting clothes are going, too. One big box is more efficient.
Let me make a phone call real quick... "OK Google, call Low." He made his phone play a ringtone, then he hung up.
Low and his neighbor were playing basketball. Hooping. Balling.
Low gave him a sideways glance. "How old you think I am, dumbass."
Screech!
Only Nikes do that shit. Low pulled up with a two handed gorilla dunk.
Just then you could hear in the background, "You have a message." It repeated about 3,000 more times.
"That's 10, anyway."
Fuck that. Neighbor grabbed the ball. "Game point. There's $50 in my wallet, right there."
"Ball in!" Low smacked the shit out of the ball.
Half falling, he swivelled, picked up the ball, and sprang from the pavement on a left-handed throw down.
On a miss, Low tried to rebound his own shot. Neighbor smacked the shit out of the ball! He took an elbow in the lip, but he reset at the top of the key. He started rocking back and forth. He twitched, drive faked, dribbled, and lost it.
Low scrambled like eggs, smacked the ball on the blacktop, and leaned his left shoulder into his opponents abdomen. Right as he stumbled back, Low popped backwards with his legs kicked perfectly underneath him, and let loose with an accent on his wrist. He let his hand hang in the air as if he was giving somebody dap. Hack! The net popped.
"GAME!"
Zantine left the ringtone message for Low. He leaned back in Kumo chair.
Zantine smiled. His teeth were blindingly white.
Megaplex 2021 was close to being as foolproof as you can make any business. The lot it was laid upon was originally for five different department stores.
It is a Laundromat.
Zantine went over his mental list:
-Pool light show (heated during the winter and cooled off during summer)
-Parking garage/ first three floors free/4th floor was open to entrepreneurial use (car repairs, detailing, bright lights), the upper floors were paid parking, the very top floor had a roof with a Park (if you concrete benches, a couple of grills, and the restroom)/ elevator
-Lounge
-Liquor store
-Loud music from live V.J./ app made requests
-Dollar store
-Gym
-Seating of all sorts (standing tables, chairs, benches, etc.)
-Grounds keepers (bouncers/customer service reps/janitors)
-24 7
-Free wifi
-Big screens
-Interactive social media in the pool area
-Touch screens everywhere (commercials for everything)
-Some of the walls were open for grafitti art.
-Loitering was allowed
-Completely ethnic
Investors tried to complain they only hire black people, but there were other businesses around town that did the same thing so it didn't matter. It seems like because of the black crowd the police would have a problem. That wasn't true because how can you be mad at somebody washing their clothes, and shopping at the dollar store.
Obnoxious people were encouraged. This place was built for the black community. It was clinging to all of those things that other businesses frowned upon. It was clinging to black lives.
The combination in that particular area was unheard of. A 24-hour dollar store was extraordinary.
Megaplex was picking up where Walmart left off. The front of the stores had a long decorated Street. The design was for people to show off their cars. The parking garage was plenty so the entire front of the store was pushed to the edge of the block.
The facility was completely air conditioned. There was a structure within a structure. The simple design wasn't that great, yet it was very functional. Everyone was involved.
Seo, Jugas, Slow, Low, Zantine, Hen 9 , Apa 8, Dimitri, Bentlee, K 7, Rysace, Mila, Cang, Duke, Simon,
and other investing parties were gain grubbing.
It was hard to find a place where you could out of the pool, go and check your clothes in the washing machine, get some sort of alcoholic beverage, and then take the elevator to the roof to watch the sun go down. The pool was the light show to encourage a barrage of bikinis. The black community was a lot larger than the city knew. There are expenses. The revenue was lovely.
The sky began to fade into beautifully dark shades of blue. A wide variety of vehicles ascended on Low's kingdom, as he liked to say. They all stayed in communications with one another. It didn't change anything. This is another fucking Slow -n- Low production.
