Home | Works | About | Alpha? Beta? | Trololo | Contact

Mistakes Were Made - Work in Progress -

(Alpha v1.0.1)

Where Legends Gather

Panic at the Store

     “So what else should be in the article?” asked Ian. He was on his way home after another useless day at school. Leaving the subway station with his classmate Stan, they conversed about a newspaper article they were writing together.

     “Well, we’re going to have to include all the crappy stuff we’ve been given for the past three years. We have to refute their arguments for why these ‘classes’ are so lagged,” responded Stan.

     The night sky hung above them as they walked across a crowded street. The few streetlights above cleared the road ahead from obscurity. Ian sighed.

     “All this shit is pissing me off,” he said.

     “Blame the school for their horrid curriculum, it’s entirely their fault to begin with,” exclaimed Stan. The next traffic light ahead was green, but Ian noticed the growling of Stan’s stomach.

     “Are you going to buy something or not?” asked Ian quickly. Stan’s feet debated on whether to cross the street or go to the store.

     “Make up your god damn mind!” Stan entered the store, Ian gaily followed after him. With his hood on, Stan ordered for an exquisite Philly Cheese Steak with no tomatoes. He abhorred the fact that the sandwich makers never remembered to hold the tomatoes.

     “I come here everyday, and yet I still have to tell them no tomatoes!” exclaimed Stan. Ian paid no heed; he was too busy getting a Football Brownie.

     “You said these were good, right?” asked Ian who looked for confirmation.

     Stan looked towards Ian from the soda cooling machines. He nodded in agreement as he pulled out a can of Mountain Dew. The sizzling of the sandwich pierced through everyone’s noses.

     Damn, I wish I could get myself a sammich, thought Ian. He hadn’t eaten much throughout the day; the shit they served at school was worse than prison food. Fuck that, I’d rather get a new game, thought the heavily addicted gamer.

     A big, black guy entered the store. Ian, a pebble in comparison to this behemoth, moved out of his way. The fat fuck helped itself to some beef jerky, who quickly gnawed away at it.

     The sandwich was done. The cook carefully wrapped it around aluminum foil and handed it over to the clerk.

     “$4.50,” he said. Stan, a mess of hunger, held out his $10 bill as if paying a stripper.

     Oh shit, thought Ian as three men bolted past him. They wore dark blue vests with NYPD scribed in yellow on the back of them. With blue-lit flashlights, they forced their way behind the counter.

     “How’s it going?” asked one of them sarcastically.

     More blue belligerents entered the store. They grabbed hold of Ian, Stan, and the fat fuck.

     “You carrying anything?” someone asked.

     “Search them,” said another in a matter-of-fact tone.

     “How old are you?” a patrol asked Ian.

     “17,” he answered in a singing voice.

     “Excuse me?” asked the policeman.

     “17,” Ian said sternly.

     “Where do you live?”

     “Bronx,” said Ian with a scoff.

     The policeman, pissed at Ian's smarmy remark, passed him to another cop, an undercover one with a false Giants jersey, commanding him to search.

     Ian was searched again. His pockets were penetrated. His pens were inspected, as were his phone, earphones, and student Metrocard.

     Stan was pulled against the wall, as was the fat fuck who still chewed on the remains of his meat stick.

     “What school do you go to?”

     “Cristo Rey. It’s in Harlem,”

     “Is it a Jesuit school?”

     “Yes,” said Ian. Good, you noticed my clothes, an excellent step in your deduction of detection.

     A conglomerate of people began to surround the store. Some tried to enter.

     “This store is closed,” said a policeman keeping the people out. A hooker passed by nodding in agreement.

     “Well, we have a search warrant for this place, in case you’re wondering.”

     Oh no, this is quite fine, it happens all the time, thought Ian in response.

     “Do you have ID on you?”

     “Yeh,” said Ian as he patiently took out his wallet and searched for it. He signaled a sad face to Stan. They were both thinking the same Really? What the fuck, come on!

     Against the wall, Stan gave his information to the policeman checking him out. His backpack, nearly empty save for two folders, was useless to the police. His crotch was fondled quite some bit, though. What’s a white guy doing here? thought the policeman, I’d better check him out…fully. But hey, I’ll finally get to feel someone else’s penis, lol.

     “I was just getting a sandwich,” Stan told him trying to avoid the nimble hands of the cop.

     “So, how’s school going?” a policeman asked Ian.

     “It’s okay, I guess. I’m doing college applications now and it’s pretty stressful.”

     “Be good in school, good luck in college,” said the policeman apathetically.

     Stan and Ian were let loose. The fat fuck, however, was kept behind.

     “What the fuck? Are you serious?” asked Ian.

     “I didn’t even get my Philly Cheese Steak,” cried Stan. They continued laughing until they got home.

Written 11.13.2009