The last two could be born out of my own personal biases, Iâll give you that. But the fact that youâre big ainât no damn opinion, itâs a fact. Well until you can prove to me that you actually are fascinating my argument will remain valid, so there.Â
I am not! Youâre just stubborn and donât ever wannaâ give me the benefit of the doubt. Which you should start doing because Iâve never lied to you the entire time Iâve known you. Well maybe if you stopped bothering me Iâd stop trying to find reasons to hit you. Of course it is, which reinforces my theory that youâre a jerk, so ha!
I'm just bigger than you, and you keep pointing it out to me because you're tight about it. It's fine - I'll give you that one. Well...how about this for proof - if I was such a bore as you make me out to be, I'm sure you would have deaded this conversation on me long ago, huh?
I'm stubborn? Oh no, toots. You are the one that's stubborn. Won't give a guy a chance to get to talk to you for real. You're so hostile to me - it hurts my already fragile ego, yanno? Okay so I'm a fuckin' jerk too, I never denied that shit. I only denied my not being interesting.Â
Well, letâs see: youâre big, youâre annoying and youâre a jerkâŠthereâs really not anything fascinating there so my point still stands. You know, you werenât supposed to comply that easily, I really just wanted an excuse to hit you but okay.
Okay whoa, if you said you watched a movie about zombie strippers I definitely wouldnât judge you. So maybe you should be nice for once and let your good pal Rita live, yeah?
Those are all subjective opinions. They can't possibly be used to define how fascinating I am. Your argument's invalid.Â
Anyone ever told you you're a terrible liar? Because you are. Oh yeah, my "good pal Rita" that's also trying to look for any excuse to hit me. Yeaaaah, I should definitely let her live. ...I think not. Plus, being all not nice to you is way more fun for me.Â
Roscoe, there isnât a single thing about you thatâs even faintly interesting and you know it. And next time you call me baby Iâma kick the shit out of you.Â
Shut up, I was bored and it looked kindaâ interesting, donât judge me. Â
Rita, there ain't a single word in that statement that's true and you know it. You find me interesting, you know you do. Fine, toots, no more babying. I swear.Â
You know I've been judging you since 'zombie strippers' left your mouth so...
Spending the past two hours of your life watching a movie about zombie strippers is a sign that your night took a wrong turn, right? So to spare me the pain of sitting through another weird ass movie, one of you should entertain me. I mean somebody remotely interestingâs gottaâ be up right now, right?
It's okay, Rita baby, I know by "someone remotely interesting" you were referring to me. You could have just called. Woulda' saved you a load of trouble.
Now about these zombie strippers...we might need to get you some help.
That doesnât surprise me. So, that means Iâma just point out the similarities between you and a dog and youâre gonnaâ be okay with it. And here I thought we were getting somewhere with this. Youâre a real pain in my ass, you know, like a little bicho.
It shouldn't. Aye aye, I ain't say all of that now. I'm not gonna have you sit here comparing me to a dog, I'd like to think I got a little more class than that. We were, don't say that, just know I'm onto you, but it's fun to pretend a little I'm sure. The world where we're "friends" I'm sure is a nice one. Hah, I wouldn't have it any other way, toots.Â
Wow, youâre actually terrible for that. Where were the lies though, are you not big and scary? Well, that depends, how much longer will it be until Iâve bored you to death with this whole âweâre friendsâ thing?
I've been called terrible for worse things - what can I say. Okay, maybe I'm bigger and more intimidating than most, so the fuck what? Eh, I don't think it'll bore me, more like intrigue me. It'll intrigue me to see how much longer you can keep up this 'we're friends' thing, when you and I both know better. Â But who am I to complain, this Rita is easier to work with.
Now Iâm 85% sure they were hitting on you, honestly. Either that or they were hoping for some weird real-life remake of a bad horror movie. Eh, big scary dogs keep people off private property, maybe making you sound like one will have similar effects. Believe it or not I pay a lot of attention to all the good things about you, hard to keep track though cause thereâs so many. Suuuuure, we can go with that if youâd like. Yeah, come through, sounds like itâd be a good time.Â
Yeah. Probably, but what can 'ya do. Well...if they were hoping for the second...that also could have been arranged. Because every guy wants to be likened to a big scary dog, way to make the confidence soar, Rita. Hah, now I know you're lying to make me feel good, thank you. Really now? Not once have you been so...embracing of my presence. What's so different about this time, huh toots?
Well, the first two points seem pretty obvious. Only creeps let strange girls into their homes for no real reason. Ha, figures youâd get stuck with the dense ones. Maybe Iâll make you a sign that says âBeware of Roscoe: The Unfestive Jerk.â Might help you out in the future. Definitely, itâs the only thing that cancel out all your other wonderful attributes. Of course you donât, I donât know why I even bother with you sometimes. You should, seeing your face would just make my night. Yeah, I guess we didnât, but whatever I guess those topics will work their way in some other time.
Exactly. But they didn't seem to care about my identity, they just wanted in my apartment, and I was like okaaaaay. That...sounds like a good idea. Makes me kinda sound like a dog, but I won't be mad. Oh because, you know all about my wonderful attributes, huh? You deal with me because I'm the only one that you can semi-relate to. Don't try it. Would it really? We can arrange that, you know? Oh, I intend on it.
That doesnât offend me any less, in case you were wondering.
Alright, have it your way then. Yeah? Sounds like you to go off on a bunch of random trick or treaters, so I shouldnât be surprised. Well, if they werenât listening they were probably too busy admiring that cute liddo face of yours. Oh, Iâm pretty sure the fact that you donât keep candy stocked is preeeetty high on your list of bad qualities. Shit like thatâs really important to people, yaâ know? Uh-huh, I work at Envy. I donât know if youâve ever been but itâs a club down on The Strip. But enough about me, howâs the island been treating you? I didnât get to ask last time we spoke.
I had to let them know that one: they could not come in, two: I would hurt them if they threw up in my apartment and three: I didn't have candy. They just wasn't tryna understand. I guess the face is what did it, I don't blame them, to be honest. Wow, so my not having candy is just a deal breaker for people? I would have never known that shit. Do I care? No. Hm...I've never been there before, but maybe I'll stop by, see my favorite person, of course. We didn't get to talk about a lot of things last time we spoke. The island's good, it's been good to me. Been keeping busy, you know?
Iâma go ahead and act like Iâm not offended by you implying me being nice is an unbelievable idea. Yeah, yeah, donât put your faith in a bunch of idiots, I get it.
Mhm, unfortunately I do. Maybe you should showcase some of that selflessness a little more though, I hear shit like that gets people places. Did you tell âem their asses were too old to be trick or treating in the first place? No, you donât, but thatâs not gonnaâ stop people from thinking youâre that kindaâ guy, you should know that. Well, Iâm glad you had a good time. Eh, I ended up working that night, so it wasnât all that great but wasnât all that bad either I guess.
Don't be offended, it's a valid assumption. I'll just throw that out there.
Yeaaaah, I'd prefer not to. That way, when I am showcasing my selflessness, then it'll be a real shock. But hey, what do I know. I told them a lot of things, Rita. They weren't listening to me at all. You right, but...I'm not a candy carrier, as disappointing as it is. You gotta job? And they made you work on Halloween. That's crazy, where do you work?Â
Donât act like youâre shocked, maybe Iâm just trying to up my karma by being nice to people. Well, no thatâs a lie and you probably know it. I just didnât think Iâd have to deal with âadultsâ that way, but Iâll take your word for it.Â
I didnât but because I deem it somewhat useful Iâll take itâŠso thanks, I guess. See, there you go again, being nice and selflessly keeping me company. Whatâs up? You enjoy your Halloween?
As long as you know it's a lie. Just because these kids are in college doesn't mean shit. Some of them are still very much in the 13th grade, and you know it.
No problem, anything I can do to help...I guess. Well you know me, Rita, so selfless. Not much is up here. Had a bunch of grown ass women come to my door asking for candy. Now do I look like I keep candy on standby? Got trashed though, so that was fun. What about you?
Two weeks of research and one fifteen page paper later...
and Iâm still the only one who actually contributed to this stupid ass Psych project. For some reason I figured a class of pretentious assholes would actually play a part in a group project, but I guess I was wrong. But whatever, if I keep staring at this rubric Iâll probably lose my mind, so whatâs up Elias? Entertain me, please.
You weren't able to whip your group into shape? All a pretentious asshole needs is a promise you'll fuck them up - which they won't believe - and then a follow through, to which they'll then understand you don't play around. Trust me, I know what I'm talkin' about.Â
But you didn't come for my advice, so entertain you, I shall, since you asked so nicely.
Coffee cups clattered in the saucer by the sink, silverware clinked together noisily, filling the silence in the nearly empty diner. There werenât many people here and she assumes thatâs why theyâre here in the first place. By the window thereâs an older woman with deep set wrinkles and a perpetual frown on her face as she stares out at the stretch of desert through the window. A few tables down thereâs a young couple kissing and smiling, the gold bands on both of their hands captures her attention. Thereâs a church a few miles back, these two must have recently gotten married there. Why anyone would choose to get married out here was beyond her, but sheâs a city girl so sheâd never understand the whole âquaint lifestyleâ thing.
If you could choose which direction to go, would you ever choose the rocky road, the bumpy ride? Well I did over and over again.
Rita sometimes wonders if thereâs something profoundly wrong with her. She still hasnât found an answer to that question, but every time he kisses her sheâs sure the answer is yes.
The brightly lit streets began to turn dark, the further the two brothers walked. And what seemed safe, became more seedy and suspicious as they turned left into an alleyway. Roscoe and Desoto stopped in front of a steel door, only to be greeted by a pair of dark menacing eyes through a rectangular slit in the door.
 âPassword.â The voice was bored and gravelly, as it uttered the simple command.
 âArtie, you fuckinâ gavoneââ
 âYou can shove your password up your asshole, bud.â
 A roar of laughter sounded on the opposite side before the slit was slid closed and the door swung open. This âArtieâ was family to the Sykes brothers, and thatâs all anybody needed to know.
 âBilly Sykes will have my ass in a meat grinder if he knows you two are here.â His hoarse laughter continued to trickle as he draped his arms around the pair, dragging them inside.
 âWOAH! So violent.â Desoto exclaimed, feigning his appall.
 âWhich is why he ainât gonna know. Capiche?â Roscoe whispered conspiratorially, the sly grin not once leaving his lips as he shrugged out of Artieâs grip and ventured further inside. The air was thick with wafting cigar smoke while the strings of jazz music vibrated the walls, shaking the crystals that hung off the chandeliers.
 Club Eleven
 It was the hub for all college students. Blacks and whites, rich and poor, even gays and straight, everyone was welcome, free of judgment and prejudice the outside world held tainted by the likes of the media. There were absolutely no barriers at Club Eleven. It was just an excuse to get all dolled up and don your newest stuff, and have a bit of fun. Not even prohibition could stop the legal and underage from a pint.
 On Friday nights, if you werenât there, you were nobody. But surely, the Sykes boys werenât nobodies. And Roscoe took full advantage of such a thing for as long as he could remember. His name got him far. But all he needed it to do in this moment was to get him a drink, and more importantly, without having to wait on line.
 Desoto shoved his way through the crowds, and the older Sykes brother could only laugh at what a brute his sibling was at times â not that he wasnât completely handy for it. Within moments, there were served two whiskeys, which was significantly better than that watered down shit the bootleggers at this joint usually managed to loot, and pass off as something worth paying for. But drink quality wasnât at the full front of his mind. There were much more important things, there was a reason Roscoe dragged his brother there tonight.
 âLadies and gentlemen,â the announcer began, âitâs an honor to present to you once again, the ever so lovely, Bonita Rita.â
 Just her name made Roscoe sit forward in his seat. He tilted his glass to his lips immediately feeling his mouth dry as she stepped onto the stage. She seemed to be glowing from the mood lighting in the bar, her thick dark curls cascaded around her tanned shoulders making the contrast of her skin even more striking. It was almost an angelic sight, but Roscoe knew much better. Rita Santiago was anything but an angel. She was fiery, and she personified the fire behind her eyes as she stood before her crowd of cheering admirers, draped in sparkling scarlet silk.
 Delicate hands took grip of the microphone and with a steady beat from the drummer behind her, her hips began to sway, as the music took her body first, and she began to sing.
 Pretty bird, pretty bird, pretty bird, sounds so pretty when you cry
 Pretty bird, pretty bird, pretty bird, youâre so pretty but why I never see you fly
 He felt entranced, as if her sweet lyrics were an incantation, her voice, light but gripping, making him dizzy. She was sulty, seductive even, and Roscoeâs attention didnât have the chance to be elsewhere as she practically commanded it from him, from everyone in the room.
 Pretty bird, pretty bird, I know youâre hurtinâ. But so am I. So am I.
 Her bow was graceful as the song came to conclusion, her smile gracious as she took her stage exit. And Roscoe followed her without so much as a word.
 âRos, where you goinâ?â His brotherâs question went on deft ears as Roscoe was halfway across the dance floor by then.
 Roscoe nodded cordially at several stage hands and higher ups as he walked through, none of them daring to tell him he didnât belong. The liveliness of the party seemed to get more and more muffled as he turned into a small corridor of individual rooms. He spotted the restrooms, a storage closet, a few unnamed doors, and at the end of the hall, the dressing rooms.
 And hers was open.
 Taking the opportunity as it was presented to him, Roscoe stepped inside, closing the door behind him. âWhyâd you follow me, Roscoe...?â She didnât even turn around to see him as she continued reapplying the crimson lipstick to her lips.
 âHowâd you know it was me?â The amusement in his tone was evident as he crossed his arms and leaned against the door.
 âI got my ways.â He heard the smirk in her voice, and looked up, meeting her gaze in the mirror in which she truly was smirking over at him through. âPlus,â she continued, âNot many people can get back here with no hassle whatsoever.â
 Roscoe closed the distance between them in three drawn out strides. His arms caged her in as they rested against the countertop of her vanity.âLemme take you out of here.â He leaned down, lips brushing against her cheek as he spoke, before flicking his gaze back up to hers in the mirror.
 âYou know I ainât about to let you do that. I have another set.â She tossed some of her dark curls away from her shoulder, and that only gave Roscoe more leverage he so needed as he kissed and nipped at the exposed bits of her skin.
 âDidnât stop you last time.â
 Whipping around abruptly in her chair, Ritaâs face was stony at she stared him down, and Roscoe only smirked because he knew he was getting to her.
 But she kissed him anyways. She always did.
 âAnything to get that dumb ass smirk off your face.â She muttered against his lips.
