The Parasite | Eminem

02

"Hit the road Jack, and don't you come back no more, no more, no more..." I mumble, skipping and snapping my fingers.
I like embarrassing the people around me.

"Stop" I believe this is when he starts to regret saying yes to coffee.

"Oh woman, oh woman, don't treat me so mean" I vocalize, twirling around and noting an older woman watching us from her porch.

"Stop, Marlow." Smacking my shoulder, he grimaces, giving me a look of distaste.

"You're the meanest old woman I've ever seen" bringing my hands to my heart, I continue walking backwards, watching his tense and impatient stature as he continues on walking.
He doesn't look at me, hoping that the small detail will convince people that he's not with me.

"Shut the fuck up, you're actin' fucking stupid" he grumbles under his breath.
Embarrassment.
Discomfort.
It's the ego.

"I guess if you say so, I'll have to pack my things and go..."
My shit-eating grin is what gets me in trouble.
People don't like to be mocked.
It's the ego.

He sighs.
He gives up.
No one silences me.
I'm especially spite driven.
I'm the world's ill will.
I'm the world's malice.

"Hit the road Jack, and don't you come back! No more! No more! No more!"

He narrows his eyes at me.
He's thinking about something.
Conjuring a concept.
Swiping the book out of my hand, he holds it up over his head.
Ah, he thinks he's smart.

I wait for him to realize that he's five-foot eight and I'm six-foot one.
When your father is tall, you're fucking tall.

"I'll rip it." He announces, as if someone like me is scared of a threat.
You could beat me to a pulp and I'd still smile at you.
I'm the world's punching bag, the cast aside masochist.

"It's not special, I can get a new one. Oh and by the way, I don't know the rest of the lyrics anyways" I chuckle, watching his expression subside to a flat lip frown.
Defeat.
Giving up, he hands it back to me.

"Hit the road Jack, and don't you come back. No more. No more. No more. No more!"
Running down the street, I sing loudly.
I'm the world's annoying little scratch on the roof of it's mouth.

"God damn it, Marlow." He shouts, running after me.
I don't look back.
I hear the thud of his shoes against the sidewalk.
This is my ecstasy.
Disruption.
Small annoyances.
Just making your day that but more frustrating.

***

"Black, thanks." I tell the waitress mindlessly, searching my khaki's for the small Marlboro box.

"Yo, I can't pay for this shit." He sighs, pressing his hands on his thighs and leaning back in the chair.
He gives out to an uncomfortable expression.

"It's on me, get an omelet or something. I don't fucking care." Shoving the cigarette between my lips, I give him a blank look, eyes drooping.
I thrust my hand up my shirt, searching my bra for the lighter I distinctly remember putting there last night.
The pants I wore the other night didn't have pockets, so I chose to wear a bra and use it as a substitute.

"Why are you being nice to me...? In your twisted... and perverted way." He asks, sipping on the glass of water placed on the table.
Hospitality or whatever.

"Cause people like you make me feel sympathetic. Plus my dad would prefer if you didn't kill yourself." I grunt, lighting up the cigarette and expelling a fit of smoke.

"People like me?" He scrunches up his nose, narrowing his eyes at me.
Yes I'm aware the way my words sound.

"People who think that one day they'll find happiness in material possessions or financial security." I tell him, tapping off some built up ashes on the small green tray.
When Marshall realizes that being famous comes with its new set of grievances, he can continue this conversation with me.