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Description
          My eyes opened. The light was streaming through the blinds. I look over at the clock. 10:13. I cover my face and sigh, massaging my face to help myself wake up. I sit up and take in the room. I immediately become dizzy and feel the rush of a headache. I hate the delay. Hangovers, ugh, one of the unfortunate parts of drinking.
          Stan walks in. He's about 5'9" and athleticly built. His smoking has slowed him down a little, but he still puts up a good fight. The guy can be mean at times, but he's a loyal friend that doesn't take shit from anyone. His brown hair is tangled and a mess from an early morning after a party. "Wake the fuck up, I need the couch."
          "I'm working on it, ya bastard. Shit, when did we get home last night?"
          "I don't know, but appearantly I gained a car. You 'member that fine ass Camero from like 1969 at that club last night?"
          "Your Fucking with me?!? Shit!"
          "What you gonna do man? I know for a fact it wasn't me." He shot me this 'your screwed' look. I wasn't as fucked as I was making it out to be.
          "Well, I can't keep it. It would take way too long to forge the papers needed. I'm gonna take your gloves and some disinfectant and wipe the whole thing down, vaccume the car, then report a vacated vehicle two blocks down by the lake. Sound good?"
          "When you get caught, I don't know you."
          "Alright, just put the car in the garage and I will take care of it."
          "Sure." He went out to the garage, grabbed the stuff I needed, and opened it up for me.
          "Where'd you get all that shit?"
          "Here."
          "You keep your vaccume cleaner, duster, gloves and leather cleaner in the garage?"
          "Well, at least I know where my shit is, ya Irish bum."
          "True." We opened the garage and I drove the car inside. "I like my parking job, you know. Two feet away from the center of the yard at a diaganol angle."
          "Hopefully you didn't try doughnuts again."
          "What into your poor flowers? Those poor things were getting a mercy killing after your lack of watering them."
          "Just turn the fucking thing off, we don't need monoxide poisoning."
          I slipped off the car, got out, and put on the gloves. We cleaned the thing with random oohs and ahhs and are-you-sure-we-can't-keep-it's.
          "Make the call in five minutes. I should be on my way back by then."
          "Take my cell. Just in case. You member the house number?"
          I looked in the contacts, "Is it; 480 555 3186?" He just nodded and waved as I got in the stolen Camero and drove away.
          It was a quiet day, not many people were out. The lake was getting rundown. Appearantly, some gang was moving in. A gang from Arizona, who woulda thought? I pulled up and parked it. Only two minute, now to get the fuck outta' there. I got out and began walking away, when I finally saw this guy out by the lake. He was just sitting there watching me.
          He was probably about 6'4" and thinking he was hot shit. The guy didn't have a shirt on, his bicepts probably were too big for one of those, and he was standing there with that I'm-a-bad-ass look in his eyes.
          "What the fuck are you doing here, shrimp?" The best he could do?
          "Fuck off. I ain't got the time nor the patience to deal wit some bad ass gangsta bitch right now."
          "Oh, I see. I have an Irish Fuck Ass on my lawn. Maybe I should teach ya somethin bout private property? Huh, Faggot?"
          "Like your shit ass brain could comprehend laws. Like I said, Fuck Off." I had even looked at him. I pulled out the fone. It was exactly five minutes since I pulled out. I had another two or three until I could call him, and my hangover wasn't fully gone. Damnit. I hate fighting after a party.
          "Did you just call me stupid?"
          "Shit, you can learn? I just thought that your head was there to repel women?"
          "Get your ass back here and back your shit up."
          "Can't, like I told you before, I gotta be somewhere. Maybe later, Shit-for-brains." Now I was just asking for a fight. I guess the whole time I kinda wanted to tango with this guy, but I think that last one pushed it over the top.
          "Imma fuck you up punk-ass."
          I hit dial on the phone as he probably charged and turned on speaker. As soon as the answer came from the other line, "Hey, dude, wassup?", I turned and said, "here and now, just past the lake? Boy, your dreamin."
          That fucker was fast. He was halfway across the field. It'd tire him down though, big guy like that. It was nothing but an unaccounted for advantage, until I saw his four buddies running up about fifty yards behind him.
          "Your ass is fucking mine"
          "Well, I didn't know you were gay? I thought I was the faggot?" I taunted him. It was too easy. "Why do you need your four buddies?" at that point the phone hung up. I think Stan got the message, though it may take him a minute or so that I didn't have.  He had just about reached the pavement. Now, he began to walk. He was a good 70 yards ahead of the other guys but only 20 yards from me.
          "Do you even know who I am?"
          "Just some other gangta wanna be? Maybe high up the corperate chain, maybe not. Don't really give a fuck."
          "I am Derrick Fuckin Jay."
          "Nice to meet ya, now skip to the part where I fucking care." I was stalling. There was no way I was gonna take all five down without luck and planning. The one problem is, my head hurts too much. Neither of them seemed to have much training in any martial art, or fighting style at all. They carried themselves with confidence though, that could be a problem. The funny part was that all five of these big, over six foot black men were coming to lynch me like the reverse 1920s. Didn't someone fight to stop this.....
          "And now I'm gonna kick your ass." Shit. I missed his entire rant.
          "How exactly were you planning on doing this?"
          "Well, Mr. Smart Fucking Ass, I was planning on using my fists."
          Just then Stan's car came around the corner. He had two others in it with him. Thank God for this guy's car. His connections get props too. Now, we had two white guys, a Mexican, and a Hawiian... I think. Champ, the Mexican, was in the passenger seat, frantically pointing at me from across the way. Dax, the other white guy, was in the back, always looking like he didn't give a fuck, but the fucker hits hard... I'd unfortunately know. And then there was a big, mean looking Hawiian named Jess. Don't fuck with him. At 5'6" and 257 pounds, he just looks fat, but have you ever fought a mean fat guy. I mean really, all he has to do is lay on you, but he perfers rearranging your face.... don't tell him I said any of that.
          "You are just about the most retarded fucker in town." He started to say something, but I really stopped caring and swung at him. I connected with his jaw as he was saying something. Shouldn't have been talking. He grabbed his jaw,"That's i..." I connected with a straight left jab. He reared back his right hand, I bobbed left of his punch and hit him with my right. His lip split and my hand stung. "Imma kill you fucker!" him again. The car parked twenty yards behind him, thats when he pulled out a piece.

Description
          My eyes opened. The light was streaming through the blinds. I look over at the clock. 10:13. I cover my face and sigh, massaging my face to help myself wake up. I sit up and take in the room. I immediately become dizzy and feel the rush of a headache. I hate the delay. Hangovers, ugh, one of the unfortunate parts of drinking.
          Stan walks in. He's about 5'9" and athleticly built. His smoking has slowed him down a little, but he still puts up a good fight. The guy can be mean at times, but he's a loyal friend that doesn't take shit from anyone. His brown hair is tangled and a mess from an early morning after a party. "Wake the fuck up, I need the couch."
          "I'm working on it, ya bastard. Shit, when did we get home last night?"
          "I don't know, but appearantly I gained a car. You 'member that fine ass Camero from like 1969 at that club last night?"
          "Your Fucking with me?!? Shit!"
          "What you gonna do man? I know for a fact it wasn't me." He shot me this 'your screwed' look. I wasn't as fucked as I was making it out to be.
          "Well, I can't keep it. It would take way too long to forge the papers needed. I'm gonna take your gloves and some disinfectant and wipe the whole thing down, vaccume the car, then report a vacated vehicle two blocks down by the lake. Sound good?"
          "When you get caught, I don't know you."
          "Alright, just put the car in the garage and I will take care of it."
          "Sure." He went out to the garage, grabbed the stuff I needed, and opened it up for me.
          "Where'd you get all that shit?"
          "Here."
          "You keep your vaccume cleaner, duster, gloves and leather cleaner in the garage?"
          "Well, at least I know where my shit is, ya Irish bum."
          "True." We opened the garage and I drove the car inside. "I like my parking job, you know. Two feet away from the center of the yard at a diaganol angle."
          "Hopefully you didn't try doughnuts again."
          "What into your poor flowers? Those poor things were getting a mercy killing after your lack of watering them."
          "Just turn the fucking thing off, we don't need monoxide poisoning."
          I slipped off the car, got out, and put on the gloves. We cleaned the thing with random oohs and ahhs and are-you-sure-we-can't-keep-it's.
          "Make the call in five minutes. I should be on my way back by then."
          "Take my cell. Just in case. You member the house number?"
          I looked in the contacts, "Is it; 480 555 3186?" He just nodded and waved as I got in the stolen Camero and drove away.
          It was a quiet day, not many people were out. The lake was getting rundown. Appearantly, some gang was moving in. A gang from Arizona, who woulda thought? I pulled up and parked it. Only two minute, now to get the fuck outta' there. I got out and began walking away, when I finally saw this guy out by the lake. He was just sitting there watching me.
          He was probably about 6'4" and thinking he was hot shit. The guy didn't have a shirt on, his bicepts probably were too big for one of those, and he was standing there with that I'm-a-bad-ass look in his eyes.
          "What the fuck are you doing here, shrimp?" The best he could do?
          "Fuck off. I ain't got the time nor the patience to deal wit some bad ass gangsta bitch right now."
          "Oh, I see. I have an Irish Fuck Ass on my lawn. Maybe I should teach ya somethin bout private property? Huh, Faggot?"
          "Like your shit ass brain could comprehend laws. Like I said, Fuck Off." I had even looked at him. I pulled out the fone. It was exactly five minutes since I pulled out. I had another two or three until I could call him, and my hangover wasn't fully gone. Damnit. I hate fighting after a party.
          "Did you just call me stupid?"
          "Shit, you can learn? I just thought that your head was there to repel women?"
          "Get your ass back here and back your shit up."
          "Can't, like I told you before, I gotta be somewhere. Maybe later, Shit-for-brains." Now I was just asking for a fight. I guess the whole time I kinda wanted to tango with this guy, but I think that last one pushed it over the top.
          "Imma fuck you up punk-ass."
          I hit dial on the phone as he probably charged and turned on speaker. As soon as the answer came from the other line, "Hey, dude, wassup?", I turned and said, "here and now, just past the lake? Boy, your dreamin."
          That fucker was fast. He was halfway across the field. It'd tire him down though, big guy like that. It was nothing but an unaccounted for advantage, until I saw his four buddies running up about fifty yards behind him.
          "Your ass is fucking mine"
          "Well, I didn't know you were gay? I thought I was the faggot?" I taunted him. It was too easy. "Why do you need your four buddies?" at that point the phone hung up. I think Stan got the message, though it may take him a minute or so that I didn't have.  He had just about reached the pavement. Now, he began to walk. He was a good 70 yards ahead of the other guys but only 20 yards from me.
          "Do you even know who I am?"
          "Just some other gangta wanna be? Maybe high up the corperate chain, maybe not. Don't really give a fuck."
          "I am Derrick Fuckin Jay."
          "Nice to meet ya, now skip to the part where I fucking care." I was stalling. There was no way I was gonna take all five down without luck and planning. The one problem is, my head hurts too much. Neither of them seemed to have much training in any martial art, or fighting style at all. They carried themselves with confidence though, that could be a problem. The funny part was that all five of these big, over six foot black men were coming to lynch me like the reverse 1920s. Didn't someone fight to stop this.....
          "And now I'm gonna kick your ass." Shit. I missed his entire rant.
          "How exactly were you planning on doing this?"
          "Well, Mr. Smart Fucking Ass, I was planning on using my fists."
          Just then Stan's car came around the corner. He had two others in it with him. Thank God for this guy's car. His connections get props too. Now, we had two white guys, a Mexican, and a Hawiian... I think. Champ, the Mexican, was in the passenger seat, frantically pointing at me from across the way. Dax, the other white guy, was in the back, always looking like he didn't give a fuck, but the fucker hits hard... I'd unfortunately know. And then there was a big, mean looking Hawiian named Jess. Don't fuck with him. At 5'6" and 257 pounds, he just looks fat, but have you ever fought a mean fat guy. I mean really, all he has to do is lay on you, but he perfers rearranging your face.... don't tell him I said any of that.
          "You are just about the most retarded fucker in town." He started to say something, but I really stopped caring and swung at him. I connected with his jaw as he was saying something. Shouldn't have been talking. He grabbed his jaw,"That's i..." I connected with a straight left jab. He reared back his right hand, I bobbed left of his punch and hit him with my right. His lip split and my hand stung. "Imma kill you fucker!" him again. The car parked twenty yards behind him, thats when he pulled out a piece.