3am on Annunication

* make us famous

“FUCK YOU GRAMMAAAWWW!” There was a palpable hatred, nuanced and complex, a feral stench of claustrophobia and contempt that could only be properly transmitted through flaring nostrils and clenched fists, its source a chthonic floodgate releasing dammed water, black and ancient and evil and beautiful, fountaining up through the bellows that was my friend David’s heaving diaphragm. He was braced to launch a second volley of flaming projectile umbrage when he realized that his business, quite independent of his awareness, had become a public spectacle. Even the black dudes on the corner who used to kick our asses in junior high had to shake their heads and say, “GOD-DAY-UM!”

I could hear his grandmother feverishly clawing through time and space to be at the front door ahead of the moment that David passed through it. “You GODDAMN sonuvabitchin’ MUTHAHFUCKAH! I’ll make you wish you never crawled outta your mama’s hole you half-a-fag dimwit! Why don’t you live at your boyfriend Franky’s house and shoot heroin with transvestites you fuckin’ accident from GAWD?!”

I turned to Dave in my patented unflappable manner: “You makin’ sure to keep that thing indoors where it can’t hurt anybody right?” Dave dusted off the remnants of his primordial dishevelment and looked at me, completely composed. Totally businesslike. “You know that’s my mama you’re talkin’ about right?” With a casual snort of disdain I turned in a general direction magnetically triangulated toward my eternal servitude of a whim. “Whatever dude. Let’s get to Miss Mae’s. Right about now all the Tulane girls will be wandering in, gacked on coke and getting wet from the idea of pissing off daddy.” 

“The freshman at least.”