Post by James Edwards on Feb 27, 2017 4:37:02 GMT
He clasps the top button on his pea coat and wonders why the Great Lakes are so damn great, to begin with. Every time he gets near one the wind coming off it makes his ball sack retract closer to his body for warmth. He looks both ways, just like his mama would want, and crosses the street to the parking lot.
This looks like a drug deal, but he wants to keep the meeting discreet. Too close to the venue and people will start talking like last time. His “guest” is loading boxes into the back of what he assumes is a rented SUV.
“Eh,” he calls out. They look at him and nod as closes the gap between them. He does not have a clue where to being. Neither of them has spoken a word to the other much less shared a ring, but hopefully, that is about to change.
“I promise this’ll be quick. I ain’t like you; this cold weather shit can jump off a cliff for all I care. I’m gonna tell you what I told the Rooster. I’m beat up, and I don’t have time to heal before Cutlass or this other fight I have out in California. The only way I can win is to change some things up. I’ve watched you the last two weeks. You got this way of throwin’ people off with quick pins and some of that other stuff from Mexico. I’d like to teach me.”
They look at him and shrug as if to indicate “What’s in this for me?” He thought of this ahead of time, though.
“You realize there is no fuckin’ reason to be afraid of him, right? The guy is more animal than man these days. Still, ain’t any reason to think he is something from under your bed. Half the battle is up here”, he points to his head, they roll their eyes.
“I know that’s cliche as hell. It’s the truth, though. I can teach you how to stay calm when his fist comes flyin’ at you like a bullet. Shit, I might not do it myself, but I can show you some blockin’ an old guy named Fujita taught me. Tommy, that’s his first name, was legit in Japan back in the day. This is some real back alley Yakuza shit. It saved people’s lives; it just might save your title reign too.”
He lets the last sentence linger, his breath visible as if he were blowing off a long drag off a Kentucky’s Best. He notices they are done loading their boxes and are not paying any attention to him now. So he turns to walk away.
Then hears the whistle and spins on his heel just in time to see a mini-UFO speeding towards his head. Instinctively he pulls it out of the air without flinching, just like he did to Cutlass’ shrimp.
It’s a toy cockroach. Not a baseball like he thought.
“Sounds good to me. I don’t mind you paying me in trade for lessons, but if you want to keep the toy, it will cost you 15.95.”
This looks like a drug deal, but he wants to keep the meeting discreet. Too close to the venue and people will start talking like last time. His “guest” is loading boxes into the back of what he assumes is a rented SUV.
“Eh,” he calls out. They look at him and nod as closes the gap between them. He does not have a clue where to being. Neither of them has spoken a word to the other much less shared a ring, but hopefully, that is about to change.
“I promise this’ll be quick. I ain’t like you; this cold weather shit can jump off a cliff for all I care. I’m gonna tell you what I told the Rooster. I’m beat up, and I don’t have time to heal before Cutlass or this other fight I have out in California. The only way I can win is to change some things up. I’ve watched you the last two weeks. You got this way of throwin’ people off with quick pins and some of that other stuff from Mexico. I’d like to teach me.”
They look at him and shrug as if to indicate “What’s in this for me?” He thought of this ahead of time, though.
“You realize there is no fuckin’ reason to be afraid of him, right? The guy is more animal than man these days. Still, ain’t any reason to think he is something from under your bed. Half the battle is up here”, he points to his head, they roll their eyes.
“I know that’s cliche as hell. It’s the truth, though. I can teach you how to stay calm when his fist comes flyin’ at you like a bullet. Shit, I might not do it myself, but I can show you some blockin’ an old guy named Fujita taught me. Tommy, that’s his first name, was legit in Japan back in the day. This is some real back alley Yakuza shit. It saved people’s lives; it just might save your title reign too.”
He lets the last sentence linger, his breath visible as if he were blowing off a long drag off a Kentucky’s Best. He notices they are done loading their boxes and are not paying any attention to him now. So he turns to walk away.
Then hears the whistle and spins on his heel just in time to see a mini-UFO speeding towards his head. Instinctively he pulls it out of the air without flinching, just like he did to Cutlass’ shrimp.
It’s a toy cockroach. Not a baseball like he thought.
“Sounds good to me. I don’t mind you paying me in trade for lessons, but if you want to keep the toy, it will cost you 15.95.”
