drugs/racism

"lets not pretend that we're classy." mitch whispered to himself staring in the mirror. dried blood stained his cracked lips from where he unconsciously gnawed away at them in his slumber the previous night. his eyes were sunken from nights of clenching them shut with no avail to them staying that way. a tattoo marked his lower left calf that simply displayed an upside down cross. many would think it was beautiful if it wasn't inverted. his ragged clothes were his way of adapting to the weather, which was hot, bright, and merciless. his recently shaved head was peeling a bit from the unforgiving sun. "ok. today. its today" mitch whispered again to his reflection as he strapped on his watch. walking up the stairs to the front door he slips on his sunglasses and places a cigarettes in his mouth whilst grabbing his main mode of transportation. "need a new board" he says to himself. mitch is out the door and down the street carving in between the yellow lines on road, not caring whether or not he will get hit by a car. strenuous activity while smoking is not something the casual smoker does, it is something the long addicted chain smoker must do. he pushes most of the five miles to where he is going but is welcomed by a few downhill cruises, and finally he reaches his destination. the corner of 3rd and jacobs street. "theres that fucker" mitch says once again to himself while spotting lemont on the corner. lemont wore black. black shoes, black jeans and no shirt, but his black torso shone with sweat in the sun. mitch skated fast towards lemont and kicked his board out from under him sending it fast at his shins. he jumped out of the way barely missing it in time, but not missing mitch's fist as it swung wide and fast. "da fuck!" spat out lemont as he recoiled in pain. mitch just stood there breathing heavy as lemont grained his bearings and began staring back his white counter part. "you owe me two hundred, where is it?" said mitch. "ill have it by the end of the week, it's been slow the past few days yanno? not very many people looking for blow dawg."
"end of the week? try tomorrow, or your black ass is history."
"aight, i got it man."

fictional biographies are trendy.

the bar was about a ten minute drive from the store, but it was still technically in town so they had to deliver there. mike casually enjoyed these longer deliveries because it gave him time to smoke and think and not to worry about hurrying. the bars double entrance gravel parking lot came up quick on him like it always did when delivering here and he almost didnt make the stop. finally traffic let him sidle his way in and he began searching for a parking space which proved more difficult than one would think at a bar on a sunday evening. mike carefully pulled in between a dumpster and an old wrecked stock car that was giving company to an old light up sign shaped like an arrow. the smell of urine was heavy while empty cans littered the ground like dead flys. mike made sure the windows were up and the car was locked after grabbing his insulated bag from the passenger seat of his car, a car that reminds him and his family of his grandma. she is still with them by the way. back to our pizza boy however, he walked up to the door slowly while reading the name of the customer and memorizing the total. the front door leads to a small room/hallway which leads to another door. the walls of the hallway were lined very symmetrically with advertisements for drink specials. dollar can of natural light. fifty cent draft wednesday. et cetera. his mind had been repeating the name of the customer and the total over in his head but as he passed these signs he took a second to read them, then continued into the bar. a nameless classic rock ballad blared and meshed with the sounds of hooting and hollering while making mikes voice sound like that of a child calling for his parents. finally two middle aged women flagged him down, grinning stupidly. "you look just like johnny depp, but im sure lots of people tell you that." she said slurring her words already at seven in the evening.
"your total is thirty three fifty seven."
"how much?"
"thirty three fifty seven"
"oh. ok. here, consider this a special trip"
handing mike a wad of random bills
"thanks have a good.."
she had already turned around handing the boxes to those around her, so mike didnt feel the least bit remorse for counting the money right there. six dollar tip. not bad, but not what he would consider a special trip. as he walked out the first door he heard someone shout "who the hell delivers all the way out here?"
and then just reverberating garble as the door closed. he stopped once again, reading the fliers for drinks. "a drink sounds so soothing", he thinks. he tore his eyes away and walked out of the bar with a dry mouth. the gravel crunched noticeably beneath his feet and a middle aged couple outside smoking looked up quickly at him, one saying "hey hows it go.."
"fuck off"
the lights were turned on and he could now see the sign advertising "live girls monday and wednesday" mike made a noise that sounded like spitting disgust out of his pursed lips and got his pack of cigarettes out to get the taste of filth out of his mind. he only bought cigarettes that weren't lights. he wanted it to hurt a little bit every time. and she was on his mind once again as his tires left gravel and met paved road. mike pulled out his phone from his pocket, which is not a simple task when the other hand is holding something on fire. he pushed the recent call button knowing that she would be right there.
ring
ring
ring
ring
no answer besides that from a recording simply saying "anne" and then a beep as mike holds his phone painfully close up against his ear.
"hey anne, it's mike. just wanted to call and tell you that i love you. so. i love you. bye."
the trees pass by and he is on his way towards another destination.
"a drink sounds so soothing."