The Fighter and the Lover: Don't Mess with Loco Tex

Chapter 1: a pinch

|| 1. a pinch ||

It was a hot and humid day, even for such a city as New York in August. You could see the translucent heat wavering in the distance as the sun threw down its foreboding rays, bouncing back up and off the asphalt, making it all the more of a struggle for all of those in the apple. Why did they call it the Big Apple again? I don't know, not the point. It was upon that horrendously yellow, blazing day that I, Bruno Alano, had decided to get up to my antics yet again. Or at least, that's what the others liked to call it. "Antics." Please.

Three friends walk down the sidewalk, making snide, amused expressions behind a young man. They leaned in close to each others' ears to exchange words. The man looked irritated, continually grumbling and frequently speaking over his shoulder at them. Things like, "You b**ches are getting on my nerves!" and "can't stand females!" and "It was a compliment, dumb f**k! Ugly ass–"

I had had enough context clues now.

"Oh," I squeaked as I knocked shoulders with the man, in which he really had walked into me. I turned to look back, side-stepping the women as they passed by and smiling apologetically, "Sorry!" He threw his hands up in the air, frustratedly shouting and yapping to himself with no regard for the stranger he hadn't paid any attention or concern to. I turned back forward with a little eye roll, shaking my head to myself. Smiling crookedly in all deviousness, I thumbed a few of his rings in my palm, slipping my hand back into my pocket.

I carried along and did something similar at I moved down the sidewalk. Pocketed a few twenties from three people giving the local restaurant workers a hard time, some tens and fives from a Karen tourist going off on a teenager who looked rather bored with the situation. I eventually got to the point of spotting another prick on his phone, clearly berating his wife and a fresh sub still wrapped in hand. I quickly got to my post.

He rounded the corner and jumped back in surprise after nearly walking into me, who was sitting on the ground. I stuck an old ten gallon hat out toward him, hair all messy and paired with my raggedy shirt and pants, I weakly pouted up at him. "Please, sir...a p-penny will do...or even a half-eaten pack of Smarties?"

He tried to conceal the disgusted grimace on his face and, hands full, sheepishly stuck his sub into my hat and set down his soda in front of me. I could hear his wife frustratedly still arguing over the phone now.

I smiled pitifully up at him and nodded. "Thank you, sir...you're too kind..." Suckerrrrr. I tore into the sandwich and sipped away at the drink once the man disappeared down the pavement. It's not like I had the means to buy myself a lunch...not really. The only money I ever earned left my grasp not thirty seconds later, majority of the time not by my own will. And the meager "earnings" I'd just nabbed were sure to follow.

A shadow suddenly loomed over my cross-legged form upon the hard, grey sidewalk. Soon enough, an anxious aura was thrown over me like a thick blanket, making me pause mid-bite. My eyes flicked up and I soon became frozen, stiffened with fear to my absolute core. There stood the girl who haunted my nightmares, who could make the very ground beneath her tremble in her wake, the girl who scared the living crap out of anyone who got on her bad side, and in short — the girl who was currently my best friend. Lillian Avery.

The glare on her face said it all, never mind the stance with her crossed arms and hip jutting out to the side; the universal language of "avoid me, I'm worse than your mother saying 'I'm disappointed in you.'" Or "moody teenager, turn now and vacate the area." Closing my mouth, I cleared my throat before hesitantly lifting the sandwich up to her and asking, "You wanna bite?" I smiled awkwardly and chuckled weakly.