Billie Joe
Mike and I shared another silent glance. Listening to Tre shout down the phone from the kitchen.
"I don't think it's good news," Mike humoured, offering me the cigarette between his fingers.
Tre had already been on the phone prior to me and Mike arriving. Despite our attempts of trying to ask him what it was all about, he only consistently walked away.
So now Mike and I were sat on the front step of his front door, passing one cigarette between the two of us.
"And how do you expect me to deal with this?" Tres voice is lathered with spite. There's a rough edge to his voice, one Tre didn't express often.
Tre hardly used that tone. It was used carefully, and for a reason.
Mike nudged my side, although sat on this one step our arms were pressed together so he rather more nudged me.
"I don't know," I answered. I already knew what Mike was asking, because he was waiting for me to look back over at him.
"You don't care?" He whispered.
I shook my head, taking the last drag of the cigarette and putting it out. "I don't wanna know,"
Whatever, or whoever, had riled Tre up so much was not becoming my problem.
I knew better than that. To stick to my own business.
But my friend, Mike, wasn't satisfied with that idea.
"He's been on the phone since we came," Mike hushed over. As he brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. "I'm just wondering who he's talking about,"
I looked further away from Mike. "I'm not listening to him,"
Mike shrugged, as I felt his arm brush beside mine. "I'm just wondering who he's angry at,"
I didn't respond to Mike. So we sat back into silence, apart from Tre in the next room.
"I'm not interested," Tre stated blatantly. "Not my problem. None of this is my problem,"
Silence. A few seconds of real silence.
Then it's gone as soon as it arrived.
"Absolutely fucking not!"
Mike snickered. My eyes snapped towards him, wondering what he found so humours about Tre shouting.
He glanced at me, giggling more. "I think Tres lost his cool,"
I tutted. "Childish," I sneered.
Tre's street is normally pretty empty. Which was fortunate since Tre was shouting with his front door open.
No one walking down the street, no one on their front garden. Tre lived in a very desolate and dodgy part of town.
Most houses have little to no effort of the outside. Front gardens going to waste, plants rotting, flowers dying, a dumped sofa two doors up and a ducked tape fridge at the bottom of the street.
Not sure what they're keeping in there.
"Well tell her I'm not fucking thriller either," Tre warned. Sounding angrier than when he shouted. "In fact, tell her to unpack her bags. Not fucking happening, do you understand me?"
Mike picked up immediately. His body picked up with excitement, his slouch immediately disappearing as his ears burnt. "Did you hear that,"
"Her," I reply.
