2004-09-17

D-Dawg

(written by Sarah:)

Daniel (or “D-Dawg”, as he is known) is manfully loitering in the parking lot of the Islamic market. He wears a green sports jersey several sizes too large and pants that were probably once called “culottes” but now are simply “cool”. No one notices, however, because of the overwhelming bling. His ears are pierced twice each, in fashionable cubic zirconia. Rings on his fingers and bells on his toes, that sort of thing. The highlight of all this frosting is the heavy gold crucifix around his neck that spells out “Jeezus” in tiny white chaserlights.

We are not sure how he stands up under the burden, poor skinny D-Dawg, but he does. We are also not sure what he and Jeezus are doing in the Islamic market’s parking lot.

Walking (shuffling? sauntering?) East toward the market is M-Dawg, black and bulky and scaryass in every way D isn’t. He inclines his head in recognition of D and smiles. There are probably a few gold teeth; we were afraid to look. D nods, and they approach.

M’s smile widens. “Yo! D! How you doin’, dawg?”

He lifts a hammy arm and slaps D playfully across the back. His hand covers most of whitey’s ribcage. D smiles, then suddenly goes rigid. His eyes pop a little bit. Flying out his mouth at high speed, a direct result of M’s jocular blow, is D-dawg’s liver. Purplish, oblong, liverlike, and now sort of flopping around at M’s feet, having left a trail of blood as it slid down his jersey. There is the tiniest dribble of blood around D’s mouth.

His eyes roll back in his head, and he crumples, tinkling a bit as his bling meets the asphalt. M-Dawg looks down at the heap, nonplussed, like he’s just accidentally eaten a kitten.