Was That too Rude?

DJ. (Chapter One)

There stood a man with shaky black hair as he was walking around his apartment. A whole crowd (what seemed to the man,) of men sat down on the couch, swigging a beer nozzle to their mouth once and then. One pushed up his glasses, putting down the alcohol. "Why don't we walk around this shit hole, and go up to people being cancerous, but we have fucking fat fuck run after us. He looks like fucking MegaMan, throwing soda cans at us," The man who suggested it was American, telling by his accent. He pushed his hair up, which was blonde with hints of darker blonde. He was a thin white boy and he had a very thin face, thin eyes, but big eyes. He looked at the black haired man, who was wearing a light blue dress shirt and Adidas track shorts, with fuck boy sandals. The other man that was obviously directed with the "fat-fuck" name. He crossed his arms over his beer belly, the fat pressing over his arm. He had a man bun in his hair and his eyes were blue, and those bluies were showing a bit of aggression. He spoke up, saying how that was a "Faggot's" idea. His Australian accent was thick, but bearable. "Chad, honestly, it's not that bad. What'd you think, Joji?" Another Australian, with longer hair that also covered his forehead and was everywhere. He looked over at the guy in Spider-Man sunglasses, than looking back at the other Australian. "Chad, it's not that bad." The Australian rolled his eyes and grunted. "It's gonna be more retarded than this asshole," he pointed to the blonde-haired boy. The guy that just looked fucking dumb shrugged. "I mean it's a shot to try, mates." His voice was slightly deep. He walked away from the crowd that was sitting, seeming to need to go get something. The boys sat there in silence, sipping there drinks. The blonde one would throw in some Parkinson disease jokes once and a while till the man came back in some dumb hat. He looked around and started speaking in a really raspy, deep voice. "Ready to go, my fellow dudes." They all smirked and slapped their knees. "Hell yeah," they seemed to all state at different times. They all huddled into a formation, trying to get out of the claustrophobic apartment and walk out. They soon managed to disperse out into the outside, the air cold mixed with humid, which fucking sucked. The huddle started to walk as the one with the retarded hat got into his car. "Meet me at the café, retards, I'm going to get the shit." They nodded and started walking, talking about random shit.
The man backed out of his parking spot into the bare open street. It was pretty early, and where he lived in Brooklyn, barely anyone was around there being it wasn't near the commercial area of Brooklyn where everyone runs around. He started driving pretty fast, taking the emptiness as a opportunity to beat time. He heard the purr of his beaten down Sudan, as its hum was almost like a groan, wishing for death. That'd make sense, being this car looked 5 million fucking years old. It had dust in its pipes and the identification of the car was starting to fall off. The car was discolored by pollen, but the original car is black that you could see in little areas that didn't look gray. The car was just a rancid, to put it that way. He saw the buildings pass, the reflection of each one in his glasses that were probably for five year olds, which wouldn't surprise anyone. He had some Drake song, as he started to thumb the lyrics and lightly bang his hands against the beaten down stirring wheel. The thumps went around with the beat, making him now start moving his head as if to dance. He then scurried to a stop, seeing a reflection against the cars side window of a Cost-Co. Perfect, cheap, and probably would give to a homeless man because it could kill them. This story is fucked. Anyways, he pulled in at a slower rate than a handicap snail, pulling into a blank spot which was very hard for a Cost-Co. He started to leave and go into a light jog after the supplies needed, while in the store humming the songs harmony and thinking of a perfect beat for it.
You opened your eyes, looking out the small window. It was January, and knowing the weather pattern in New York, you're guessing that it's going to be cold. Great hypothesis! You checked your phone to see a "Please plug me into a outlet, I need my cummies." Well, no, just a charger going down in red pixels. You sighed, getting up and fixing yourself as you walked out, putting your keys in your bra for safe keeping. You started trudging down your stairs, sighing. You might as well go to the café, being they probably want that application. See, when we left off, you grabbed yourself that pretty paper and filled it out. But never mind that, you need to find the place, Jesus. You were guessing forward was the way to go? Better than backwards, you guessed. You started forward and managed to avoid many until you got deeper in the city. Hordes upon hordes of people, like cows trying to run to freedom. You blended in, being shoulder to shoulder to many people. You felt as if to vomit, because damn was it claustrophobic, it was more paining of a claustrophobic feeling than being trapped in some small cube like box, feeling empty and lonely. Now you're feeling anxiety and multiple assholes near you. You felt pushes and you saw arguments on phones or a couple kissing, but you couldn't see the café or smell the aroma of coffee grounds. You groaned in anticipation? Yeah, anticipating the moment to hit that café. 'What was it called again..?' You thought to yourself, until the behemoth of people stopped, you looked around. There was a street crossing, a man's hand that was white was the graphic on the visual thing you noticed. But you could fucking care less. Over on the other side of the street was another long sidewalk, and there were a group of men, all running. You raised your eyebrow, feeling like you've seen some of them before. You shrugged, and then you found your spot. Your destination, your destiny. The shitty café. You almost ran out to the street, before a car came zooming by made you huddle to a stop, scared of what almost happened, but you were so fucking pissed over your suitcase and you need a job to pay off the shit apartment you own. The real world fucking sucks. You began running again, cars huddling to a stop at your presence, one old soccer mom putting out her head to yell out, "Fuck you, I need to take my kids to soccer!" You finally managed not to kill yourself, but after the comment you heard yell out really made you wanna kill yourself. "What the fuck is that girl doing here?" You heard the guy from yesterday yell. You felt a bit confused on why he even mentioned your presence, but you kept on walking. "She's trying to make some money so that beautiful bitch can pay me for this dick," The raspy voice who spoke out for you was very unfamiliar to you, but when you turned around the face was very familiar, almost fucking scary how every detail on his vacant, expressionless face spelt out his name. It was that 'George' fuck, who insulted you in the span of an hour. He smirked at you turning over to him. "You sexy fuck," He was in some character, so he was obviously playing it. He seemed to like how embarrassed you were over his words. "Shut the fuck up, George, was it? Yeah. Shut up." He laughed at your comment, the others now near you. You took a good look at all of them. Closet homosexual with brown hair and hazel eyes, driver from yesterday who looks like a kid who you see in a fucking cancer commercial, just with hair, and a man who could feed everyone with Africa from the food intake he had. You sighed, as George answered. "You mean Francis of the Filth." He stood with his hands on his hips, one leg slightly up to where his vans were being bent by only his toes hitting the top of the sole of the shoe, his other leg forced to hold all his weight. You noticed that 'Driver Boy' was holding a camera and pointing it directly at the situation. Jesus Christ, they're fucking pranksters. You don't watch YouTube, but you are a fucking young adult so you do understand that pranksters are ultimate cancer and must be stopped. So to not give in, you turned and continued walking back to the café. You noticed a new woman when you walked over to the counter, who you gladly gave a smile and handed your paper. She returned the smile in a sign of friendliness, taking the paper with a swift motion as you explained why you handed it to her. You sat down in the chairs as she alerted you that the manager would be talking to you soon, causing you to sigh in relief. You noticed the gang that was practically harassing you coming in, George or- wait, use the proper name, Francis of the Filth. You sighed and chuckled too, finding it so retarded that you actually talked to him. He's just a dick, and wants to get you upset, which was his purpose probably. To give you a rough time in New York. Well fuck him, he's never gonna make your experience a living hell. No matter how many times you'll run into him, which you guessed was often since he seemed to enjoy this place, you would never give into his shit. You soon saw the manager sit down across from you, but you also noticed George taking off his dumb ass glasses, the dumb hat, and the shirt..? You raised a brow as he turned his head to face you, sticking out his middle finger as you shrugged it off. You looked back at the manager. You could smell spray paint as it penetrated the atom sphere, and then the sound of a.. can of spray paint as well? That's fucking... Wow, ok. "I'm Betsy," She had a rotten voice as she wanted you to avert your attention back to her. "I'm a hundred percent positive that your job interview is here, not over there." You perked over and nodded. "Sorry ma'am, but the fumes and the paint-," You apologized, but she just sighed. "Alright, so what do you want to do here?" "Waitress, maybe?" You answered truthfully, as she wrote that down. You took a close look at her as the hums of paint ran. Her wrinkles were hanging, almost like a bull dog. You wouldn't be surprised if she'd start frothing in the mouth, honestly. She had gray hair that was pulled back, and old 50's glam make up on. Her apron was blue and she had a white dress underneath it. It made you really wanna vomit. She continued to question you, as your eyes always got distracted. What the fuck where they doing? They're in a restaurant, but no one cares. Why? You wouldn't fucking understand. "Hired." You looked over and raised an eyebrow, "I am?" You questioned in surprise. This made her kind of pissed. "No, you're fired. Yes you're hired, your shift starts at 10 PM, if you're available tonight." You nodded as George obviously sort of groaned at that. "I'm on for beats tonight, tho," he looked at Betsy. "She's waitressing. Not ruining your DJ skills." You looked over at him, sort of gasping in a sarcastic matter. "Oh shit, look who's bending their ass to get money now. You smiled as you looked at him, the gang laughing. He looked obviously angered as you shook his head. You waved at him as you started walking back into the back room that Betsy led to you, guessing to change into the new outfit.