piss off (kelvin)

[Dime Thurman]

it's eleven at night. they say beer before liquor, never sicker, but i've got an iron stomach. three coronas. two mimosas, one scotch on the rocks. i'm gone. expecting to be booted from destiny's soon, i head out on my own and face the breese. the wind is strong tonight, likely to storm. i find myself swaying with it. about a block away, i spot a younger boy--sixteen?--sporting a crew cut and a cigarette. perhaps he's got more. god knows i've not got any.

being an experienced drinker, this walk poses no problem for me, save that one crack in the sidewalk i always forget is there. i assume it was an earthquake that put it there, for the hundredth time, as i trip over it with my left toe. 

a soft curse leaves my lips and somehow, even from a distance, crew-cut notices me. he gives me that 'stranger smile' americans are so fond of and i continue to make my way up to him.

"oi, have you got any more?"

"what?" he asks, then notices what i'm looking at. i drunkenly watch ash fall from his cigarette to the dirty ground and then a drop of water follows it. then two more. then five. and suddenly it's pouring.

"i'm sorry, bro, i've only got one left and i'm a chain smoker." i watch him incredulously.

"look," i say. "i've got... look at this. a shiny nickel."

"i'm sorry, man," he repeats. i roll my eyes and the alcohol burning in my veins takes over. i may be very small--at least six inches shorter than crew-cut--but i'm strong. i push him up against the wall.

"alright mate, it's raining fucking hard outside. you won't be able to light it anyway." his eyes, glossed by what i assume is alcohol as well (bars line this street for a mile) shine with shock and fear.

"what the fuck? jesus, take the fucking cigarette," he says, pulling the pack out of his pocket and throwing it on the ground.

[Kelvin Westfield]

Kelvin walked down the streets of LA, coming back from a pre season basketball practice that had been held down at the staples center. Kelvin had just been flipping out that he even got to step on the staples center court, but that he got to practice at it, was even more crazy. He hoped that next time he was at Staples Center, it would be playing for the Lakers, or the Clippers. After the practice, he had showered, and then gotten his clothes on. His usual clothes, but this time, a beanie instead of a LA Hat, a purple hoodie, a shirt, jeans, and some shoes, along with his lucky cross necklace. In his pocket, his phone, and his keys to his apartment. In his hand, Kelvin had warm french vanilla, and in between his lips, he had a light rolled up join, from which he had been smoking the last couple of minutes. He decided maybe he was going to stop around Destiny's to get a drink.

He headed to Destiny's, thoughts going through his mind. Some of his lyrics, thoughts about practice, about how the season would turn out. Kelvin hoped that LU would make it, so Kelvin could show off his skill during march madness. See, that was the point in having too many talents. He could perform musically, and he could act. And then there was basketball. His future could go in many ways, but how could he choose which one he wanted to dedicate all his time to, because soon, he would have to choose. This was the first year Kelvin was getting a regular starting spot in basketball, since during freshman and sophomore year he usually came off the bench. Both seasons he had been the best sixth man of the NCAA.

Kelvin towards Destiny's. Fuck. Kelvin thought. It was Dime. Kelvin had never had a good relationship with that guy. It was exactly the opposite, if it was appropriate, Kelvin would call the guy his arch-nemesis. And Dime was up to his usual antics, treating other people like shit. Kelvin sighed. Kelvin walked over past the rain, covering his joint. The boy whom Dime had been messing with looked like a high school kid. Kelvin sighed, taking his joint and pressing it against Dime's neck. "Hey, Lecter. Pick on someone your own size." Kelvin said, raising his voice to let Dime know he was serious. But Dime probably knew that, because Kelvin hadn't already made that clear, pressing a lit joint against Dime's neck.

( www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=88226366 )

[Dime Thurman]

fuck.

i turn around with amasing reflexes considering my inebriated state. "if i weren't so fuckin' pissed, that might've actually hurt." i grab the culprit of what will probably be a bubbling burn wound on the nape of my neck tomorrow--a spliff, now soggy and put out. "you cretin, you wasted some perfectly good cannabis." i toss it on the ground and squash it out, then look the guy in the face.

kelvin.

"oh, you." i grin, practically seeing the glase in my own eyes. "well hello there, sweetheart." from behind me, i hear crew-cut scamper. "i guess you wouldn't much like it if i picked on you, then, would ya, mate?" i ask. i bend down, allowing the cold, harsh rain to dull the low ache in the back of my neck. the pack of cigarettes gravitates to my hand and i find that it's nearly full... crew-cut was a fucking liar.

"you see this?" i ask kelvin, observing the camel pack before grabbing one out and putting it in my lips. "you've got a lighter, don't you? i mean, you had this shit lit," i say, pointing down at the joint that has become one with the soaked pavement. "'cos i seem to have forgotten mine."

my stare, unwavering, is shrouded slightly by the rain. i wonder which of us will move first, but i don't feel like moving.

[Kelvin Westfield]

Kelvin couldn't help but chuckle a Dime, in the current state that he was in. Pitiful, yet funny as hell. Kelvin smiled once Dime had reacted. Dime had something about Kelvin wasting weed. Kelvin would be lying if he said he wasn't at least the least bit high. Kelvin let the rest of the smoke out of his mouth. "There is lots more where that came from. All you gotta do, is head down this street, and in front of the Wall Mart, there'll be a black dude standing on the right corner of it. You ask for Carlos. He takes you to him, and all you gotta do is pay him up." Kelvin said. He saw no reason in showing the guy where to buy weed. Hopefully, Dime would be an idiot and insult Carlos, and then Carlos would shoot him. Hopefully. But even Kelvin knew that Dime wasn't that idiotic.

Kelvin gave a slight giggle once Dime realized who he was. "Hey, Quarter height." Kelvin said, making fun of Dime's name, calling him quarter, and the fact that Dime was short. Kelvin looked at Dime picking up the cigarettes. Kelvin lowered his back so he could be face to face with Dime. "Listen here, Carlton. When I said pick on someone your own size, I'm guessing you should leave the high school kids alone and mess with the middle school ones." Kelvin said. Stepping to where there the entrance of Destiny's blocked the rain. He took another joint paper, and from his back pocket took some marihuana, and sprinkled it on his joint paper, rolling it, then lighting his newly made joint. He then quickly made another one for Dime, because he was sure Dime would want it.

Kelvin then winked as Dime took the Cigar. Kelvin flicked the cigarettes out of Dime's hands, and mouth. "Let me do you one better." Kelvin said, sticking the joint in Dime's hands, then lighting it. And after that, Kelvin wasn't sure. Everything he had just done had been sarcastically. And now he was lost on what to do. "Alright, Half Pint. Next time I see you messing with someone, Imma have to kick yo ass." Kelvin said.

[Dime Thurman]

i listen as kelvin goes on and on, politely accept the spliff he offers and hold it gingerly between my lips. the flame, safe from the rain only by way of a small awning, flickers dangerously before me. i pull away as soon as the spliff is lit--i don't entirely trust kelvin not to bring the lighter to my face.

"alright, half pint. next time i see you messing with someone, imma have to kick yo ass."

"you know, westfield, only bullies pick on people 'cos of their height." i flash him a smirk i'm sure he'll appreciate and take a giant drag--it hits instantly. this is medical grade stuff.

"y'know, i don't understand why you don't roll up tobacco in these bad boys," i say, flipping it between my fingers without much grace--my normally perfectly calculated movements are hindered by inebriation. "it tastes sweeter that way."

i turn to leave, kicking the box of cigarettes messily up into the air and catching them in my hand--a couple hit the ground. i'll leave them.

"those are some pretty big words from an ex-thug. thanks for the light."

my feet carry me in the direction that crew-cut disappeared. i do not know if kelvin follows, and frankly, i do not care.

[Kelvin Westfield]

Kelvin looked at Dime, who had pulled back. Kelvin couldn't help but laugh, because he knew that Dime thought Kelvin was going to burn his face off. As much as Kelvin would love to do that, he wasn't a killer, and damn hell wasn't going to start now. Dime wasn't worth it. He was just he pitiful psychopath that had taken a shine to messing with Kelvin. Kelvin didn't care much for the boy really. But one day Kelvin would snap, and maybe hurt him. Kelvin had actually been tempted in singing the kid's eye brow.

Kelvin raised an eyebrow. "Bully? But I thought we were friends? Friends pick on each other." Kelvin said, sarcastically. Of course they weren't friends, Kelvin couldn't really stand the sight of the poor boy, but it was fun to tease. Kelvin then heard Dime's suggestion about putting Tobacco instead of weed. Kelvin sighed, like he cared about the guys suggestions. "Frankly, I feel like smoking weed because it relaxes more. So, fuck you." Kelvin said.

Dime's next words impacted Kelvin so hard. It had been like a bomb had been dropped on him. How in the HELL did Dime know about his past? Kelvin took a light jog, towards in front of Dime, making him stop. "How do you know about that?" Kelvin asked, and for Dime's sake, Kelvin hoped it wasn't a smart mouthed answer, because it was serious, and Kelvin would be angry.

[Dime Thurman]

"frankly, i feel like smoking weed because it relaxes more. so, fuck you."

i smirk at his lack of understanding. there's a sweet spot, a perfect combination of weed and tobacco that americans never seem to get right. but i hardly have time to gloat before his sharp tone cuts through the air like daggers.

"how do you know about that?

i don't know how much people pay attention to me. to who i am, to what i do. sometimes i feel that all eyes are on me and others i feel that every one is turned away. i specialise in people. i specialise in understanding how they tick, why they work. kelvin is obvious to me whether i had read pages of something personal or not. i'm amused that he cannot see this.

i feel the peak of my drunkness coming along--watch the world tip and turn slightly and take a deep breath to soak in the vibrations of the earth. my feet, the only things connecting me, are glued to the rocky pavement but the rest of me sways and i cannot tell if it is inward or out. without bravery, as it is something which i do not need, i take a step forward, and then another. now, mere inches from kelvin's face, i take a deep breath... let him think he's getting an important answer. "that's a good question," i whisper to him. i follow up with a short laugh and then step away. "if you'll excuse me, i have somewhere else to bang around."

once again, i take my leave.