Music Thesis

Chapter 4 - Pocket Dokuro

During the quick 30 minute break, we talked, well, essentially business stuff.

Then a surprise came that I never expected. Pretty self-explanatory there, I believe. Because if I expected it, it wouldn't be a surprise, wouldn't it?

"The interview will be on the radioes." I said to Omar. "You'll be big news, my friend. Big news. Need anything more, trust me. Just contact me."

"Ok, J.J.." said Omar.

The door opens up. It's opened by a boy no older than 19 or so, with a couple of friends it seems like, laughing - as if they had just had a good time. Also wearing ears and a tail. This family is weird, man, I don't know what to tell you. I don't even think it's useful to mention this, but his ears and tail are of but a different disposition of color to Omar, with the color of his ears and tail being more of an orangey, yellowish color, with a softer quality, in contrast to DM Dokuro's, that's colored burnt sienna with a rougher look to it, indicative of wearing down due to... stress? And work. Can't tell, no, I don't even want to know.

"Alright, see ya' later, guys." said the boy.

Then his friends left.

When the door was shut by him, he then saw me, and Omar, whom by then, was already standing up in some sort of anger. A rage of ambiguous qualities.

Then I saw him get a tool tantamount to what might as well or could be a baseball bat, and beat him the living nightlights out of him.

*Whack* to the head. *Whack* to the side. And two more *whacks" to the back.

In pain, I saw the boy as he was clearly suffering from some sort of disciplinary punishment exclusive only to those families of a differently colored quality. And don't look at me like that, I grew up in a half-Cuban household, I know what Spanish punishment looks like. So shut it.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, YOUNG MAN??!!!" exclaimed Omar in a fit of incense. "It's 11 PM! Now if you don't tell me a good reason why you came home this late, so God help me."

"Eh," said the boy in pain: "I was just hanging out with some friends."

Then he beat him up some more, this time, letting go of the bat, he knee kicked him in the stomach.

"*coughs* It was for a school assignment, uncle!" said the boy.

"Uncle?" I asked out of confusion.

"You, J.J., you stay out of this." said Omar.

"Should I leave?" I asked.

"No." said Omar. "Te quedas ahí."

"You know what?" I said. "I'm just gonna leave righ-"

"STAY, FUCKDAMMIT!!!" said Omar angrily.

"Oh, ok." I said.

"Go to your room, Juan." said Omar. "I'll have a talk with your dad about this, and he'll deal with you."

"Juan?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's my name." said Juan. "Juan Carlo."

"Juan Carlo?!" I asked. "Juan Carlo, as in the Juan Carlo who makes music under the name Pocket Dokuro?!"

"Wait, how do you know all of that?" asked Juan.

"He's an interviewer, chico." said Omar. "He works for a music company who's been wanting to get an interview with me."

"Wait a minute, Uncle," said Juan: "I thought you didn't do interviews."

"I don't." said Omar. "But he works for Sony. You can't just say no to these people. Otherwise, more people from where he's from will go badger me until I give in to an interview, I can't handle that. So I might as well give them what they want, you know?"