Sam Pink - Witch Piss

“Yeah man, fuck that,” Face said. “That nigga on some treason shit.” He looked at me and said, “Man this du Jeffrey, he come up to me outside the bar, talkin bout, he need money for a burrito. Ok. So I gave him half. I gave him three dollars so he could get hisself a burrito. But I done tol him before he left—” Face clapped his hands together, then took one hand out and pointed at me, “I tol him: save me a little. I knew he was hungry so I didn’t say no ‘Save me half.’ I said, you know, ‘Just save me a little.’”

“Uh oh,” I said.

Troy was already laughing/coughing a little.

Face clamped his teeth together. “That motherfucker ate the whole damn thing cept for a lil scrap a some lettuce.”

Troy started laughing really hard. He wiped his eyes and said, “Issa bissa, ey, he fung kilt that thing, run it!”

Face said, “Next time I see him, I’ma whoop that nigga’s ass , jo. Talkin bout, left me with a little scrap a some lettuce and shit — ain even any meat in it.” Then he paused like he was alone, and in a really quiet voice he said, “Ey you know what though, god bless him. If he was hungry enough to smash that burrito like that, gobbling it down like that, then he needed it, cous. I got food at my mom crib, you know? It’s aight.” He shook his head, smiling. “He smashed it though. Suh-mashed that bitch.”

Troy was laughing. “Kilt that fung thing.”

He cleared some mucus with a little bark.

“God bless him then,” Face said. He looked at me. “S’like how you did good for my man Speedy. God gon do you right by you f’that.” He turned to Troy. “Ey, T. Thissa coo cat right here. He help Speedy dumb-ass out.”

Face told him the story.

Troy laughed. “That marfucker. You know why his lecks don’t fung work right?”

“He told me he was in Vietnam,” I said. “And that the Air Force is for pussies.”

Troy laughed/coughed.

Face laughed like, ‘Hik’ik’ik’ as he got out a cigarette, spearing gum out of his mouth with his pinky nail. “Nah man. Speedy a dumb motherfucker. Swear to god. I love that man, but he fucking dumb as it is, cous. That motherfucker used to be about that graffiti shit and whatnot, that taggin. And his dumbass started getting high off the spraypaint. You know, you uh, spray alla paint in a bag then breave it in. Dumb ass done fucked up his spinal cord.”

Troy said, “Issa, uh, the, the”—pointing up into the air, “Huffing. Assa, yeah, called huffing.”

“Yeah, huffing,” Face said. He clicked his teeth, making an ‘oh well’ expression. “Yizzir.”

I briefly imagined a withered root as Speedy’s spinal cord.

Running it between my teeth to scrape off what little’s left.

My only prayer being, “I’ll always take what little’s left.”

“Scrap a some lettuce,” I said, shrugging.

Face laughed. “Tellin you, that nigga suh mashed that bitch. Left jussa scrap a some lettuce and shit.”

Troy laughed a little, half-asleep again.

He stretched out his arms and put them behind his head.

He accidentally hit the piss jug with his elbow and the jug wobbled, but he grabbed it and settled it.

Face said, “Ey, Troy, gimme that beer.”

Troy grabbed the piss jug and said, “This beer?”

Face laughed.

Troy laughed, waving his hand down like ‘nah just kidding.’

Then he grabbed a 40 by his bed and handed it to Face.

Face said, “What if I just take this shit from you right now, on some gangsta shit.”

Troy said, “Go ahead, issa bissa, yo, look, I mean, fine. I don’t give a fuck about the beer. Just don’t take the piss ok?”

Face laughed, slapping the dumpster lid a little, holding the 40 up high.

Troy said, “Leave the apple juice, y’know? I need my vitamin C in the morning.”

Face was stomping and laughing.

He took a big pull off the 40 and passed it to me.

This guy rode up on a mountain bike and came to a stop right in front of us with a small skid.

Couldn’t even tell where he came from.

It was an older guy in an Army jacket.

He had long hair in a ponytail, a huge hook nose, handlebar moustache, no front or top/bottom teeth, baseball hat with a small flashlight taped to the bill.

I said hi to him and he started talking to me.

He had a light lisping voice with a seemingly Canadian accent.

He kept laughing like, ‘Sis sis sis’ then saying, “Hoo hoo.”

His eyes slowly slanted inward and remained crossed for a few seconds.

“Hey man,” he said. “Wanna know something? I mean, hey um, do you like videogame systems?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Which one do you have?”

“I don’t have one.”

He unzipped a bag attached to his bike. “Hey um, because, wanna know something? Guess what, there’s this wireless controller I got for sale. Twinny dollars. Yeah.”

He showed me a wireless controller, still in the box.

“Oh nice,” I said.

“Yeah um, because, guess what. Wanna guess what? It’s brand new. The assholes at the game store threw it out in the alley. You know what? I have to say this, and I’m sorry, but I like living in the city because of how wasteful people are. Yeah. Hoo hoo. Wanna know, um, no I mean how much you think this is?”

“Like, sixty dollars? Fifty dollars?”

“No. Forty-nine ninety-nine.”

He put it back in the bag attached to his bike.

“I got all kinds of stuff,” he said. “Hey um, you smoke weed?” He got out a little pipe and a grinder. “Hey how about this for something, want to know how much this grinder costed?”

“Thirty dollars.”

“No. Nothing dollars. I got it for free when I worked security at this concert place. This stupid girl, oh man, hoo hoo, wanna know how stupid she was, man? She comes up to me and says, ‘Hey I got those doses.’ LSD. She said that to me, and I’m like, I pointed at the word ‘Security’ on my shirt. Thank you! I took her doses and this grinder.”

Both his eyes went inward toward his nose for a few seconds.

Troy said, “Ey, don’t smoke that over here. I don’t want it smelling over here, I know all the neighbors. Come on.”

Bike Guy and I walked ten feet away, around the corner a little.

I could hear Troy saying, “You know, come on. This my place. People have rules for their houses. I have rules for my place.”

Bike Guy lit his pipe and took a pull and held it in, pinching his nose shut.

He laughed like “Sis sis sis” as he exhaled.

I took the remaining pull and thanked him.

He looked at me.

Both his eyes went inward.

He said, “If you know anyone who um, wants that controller, let me know, man.”

“I will.”

We went back around the corner.

Bike Guy walked over to his bike, reached into his coat, and took out a tallboy of Old Style from an inside pocket.

He put the tallboy into the waterbottle slot on his bike and rode away.

“You guys know him?” I said.

Face said, “Yeah he come around here once a while. That du fucking weird, cous.”

Troy said, “Ey, not my problem,” half-asleep. Then he woke up and looked around a little. “Ey, hassa goin?”

Face told a story about how he’d been drinking here at Troy’s one night, with one other guy, and the Bike Guy came up and talked to them.

“So this crook-eye bike du talkin us. Me and o’boy sitting side by side over here. And o’boy say, ‘Who is you talkin to, me or him?’”

Face and Troy started laughing hard.

I laughed.

Oh man.

“Who is you talkin to,” Face said again, in a breathless/highpitched voice, pointing from eye to eye.

Troy looked at me and said, “Hey man, wait till you hear the rest”—putting the piss jug back under the blankets.