Post by joe on Nov 27, 2013 18:46:22 GMT -5
The main street shopper’s paradise seems uncharacteristically devoid of its usual masses. On an overcast day like this even the blustery weather wouldn't normally be enough to deter the swarming consumers and their rabid desire for acquisition. Something is slightly off about the day; for the casual observer, certain anxiousness hangs about in the air. At the end of a row of high-end shops and boutiques, a man far beyond the typical working age labors away. His withered hands still nimbly manipulate the equipment as he crouches down to adjust the chain from the tow truck to the expensive new sports car he prepares to haul away.
Suddenly there’s a rough tapping on the shoulder of the dark blue work jacket that reads ‘Tiny’s Towing’ The seemingly frail man turns to face the newcomer, a lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips, an “Eh?” is all he manages to get out before a frowning face begins hurling vulgar obscenities his way. Spiked hair, a fashionable sweater, formal slacks and dress shoes immediately accuse the tow truck driver of being a thief and insult him personally with colorful verbiage. The old man shakes his head and advises the younger man of what the drop fee is. The foul mouthed twenty something belches a string of righteous indignation his way as he adopts a menacing posture. Finally he puts his dukes up and challenges the old man to “knuckle up.”
“Am I hearing this correctly?” a deep rumbling voice announces as another figure emerges from the opposite side of the vehicle. This one is far larger than the aged man but wears a matching jacket. The hefty form rounds the front of the tow truck, revealing it to be none other than Joe Martinez. The trendy young man jumps back with surprise at the scowling bulky bruiser that stomps his way. “Is it true that we've got someone here who’s looking to have an impromptu street fight? ‘Cuz I’d love a few rounds.” Joe is right up in the face of the young man who backs away and lifts his hands in a submissive manner. “Oh, don’t freeze up now, Cochise. Let’s see whatcha got.” The wrestler keeps his approach as the privileged kid stammers and backpedals right into the curb, causing him to fall down onto his back. Joe flashes a triumphant grin as the young man scrambles to his feet and runs off down the street.
“Sorry, Tiny. Was tryinna figure out these cameras they gave me.” says Joe as he pats the tow trucker’s back.
“I could’ve taken that punk.” replies Tiny as he finishes lifting the vehicle, “We’re good.”
Joe hops into the cab with Tiny and the two are on their way.
“Hey, thanks for letting me ride along. Not many folks workin’ on Thanksgivin’. It’s not a problem if I do a bit of trash talkin’ here is it?”
“No worries here.”
Joe looks into the camera that seems to be mounted on the dash board of the moving vehicle. The view catches the old man next to him who is focused on driving and making the most of his smoke.
“It seems that I've got a dance with destiny at the next PURE. The powers that be have managed to make note of the power punching, bone crunching menace they’re calling the ‘average’ Joe. They've stuck me in a free-for-all melee the likes of which is sure to make the history books. While the typical theory is to think that a multi-man rumble is more akin to a dice roll, I might actually be in for something closer to my natural element. I've seen more barroom brawls than I care to count or try to remember. Now seeing as I've become one myself, I figured a ride on a wrecker would give me a bit of insight. See, Tiny here’s a guy who’s used to being assailed on all sides. He does what it takes no matter how ticked off or how fierce the opposition is.”
Joe points to Tiny who nods into the camera.
“I've heard about how folks have called him a profiteering vulture, how they've threatened him, even flashed a weapon or two, but it don’t deter guys like me’n’Tiny. Whatever ya got, it ain't enough to stand in the way of the goal. That’s what guys who get the job done are like: far beyond driven, hell-bent not deterred. That’s why no matter how I’m viewed I need to give my tag partner, Alessandra Nayara a brutal dose of reality. I’m talking directly to ya here, kid. Allow me to apologize ahead of time because once we’re in the arena and that bell rings there ain't gonna be an opportunity for lip-flappin' once the bodies start flyin’.
I was once nineteen too; all bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and snot-nosed. Barely learnin’ how to stand on your own two feet, it’s enough to make me nostalgic. I had to learn through trial and error, and I emphasize the error part, that the only thing you got to really rely on is yourself. Your influence ends at your arm’s reach and your trust ends at what you see. Now we may have been depending on one another to achieve victory during our tag matches but any respite or favor you’re hoping to find is going to snuffed out come the next PURE. See that youthful optimism you still got works against ya, gives ya expectations that’re gonna need to be crushed. You may have heart but it’ll do more than bleed when the match is through.
At this point I feel it’s my duty to show you the ropes, not only as yer bouncin’ off’em into my waiting fists but in a figurative sense too. I know you must look out into your future and see nothin’ but an escalator to success. But while yer expecting green grass, clear skies, and sunny days ahead it falls upon me to teach you about the nightfall and thunderclouds. So when this tempest stress tests and tramples ya, just know it’s not a personal vendetta I’m actin’ out or anything. It’s just the way the world works.”
“We’re here,” Announces Tiny, “just gotta put 'er in a good spot.”
Joe puts on a “Tiny’s Towing” baseball cap and hops out, the older man maneuvers the vehicle and the car is placed down. The driver nods in a satisfied manner as Joe hops into the cab. No sooner is he settled when the radio crackles. “Hey Tiny, SPD’s got a Pounder for ya. Twelfth and Remington court.” Tiny clears his throat and picks up the microphone. “I’m clear Margie, on my way.” The vehicle starts up once more.
“Now Mister Mania, I think a more appropriate diagnosed moniker would be Mark Narcissism. Just how much did you pay those extras and stand-ins to watch your little announcement speech and cheer you on? I could always use an extra buck; you shoulda let me know, I coulda pretended to give a darn about you too. Now I’m not the type to belittle a man’s accomplishments, especially when I’m not really familiar with what those accomplishments are but I do have to say that so far I’m only marginally impressed. I mean you certainly performed in an admirable fashion at the last PURE. You took Cam Carter to the cleaners, wilted Violet Rose’s chances, and handed that J3S fellow an ‘L’ to start his career off with. Nothing to scoff at, but did it really earn you a top spot chance? I’m inclined to say not quite. Regardless of how I may feel about it, in the ring I’m going to get to express myself in the best way I know how - With a punishing volley of disagreement. I’m sure you’ll understand my raging rhetoric, when I counter-point by counter-punching, heck I’ll engage in discourse with a discus elbow smash if that’s what it takes. The use of violence is a language I’m sure we both understand and I've got a dictionary grade vocabulary I’m itchin’ to use.”
The gas guzzler grinds to a halt and both men exit to find Seattle’s boys in blue standing at what must have been a grisly scene. The camera is placed on the hood of the truck revealing a mangled black sedan that’s partially wrapped around a light pole. A few folks revealed to be detectives by their hanging badges snap pictures of the wreckage. Tiny approaches the officers, “Impounding this I’m guessing?” One of the officials nods, “Yeah the traffic investigators are pretty much done here. Should be pretty open and shut, they rushed the drunk guy off to the ER. Luckily he didn't wipe out any bystanders, something to give thanks for I guess.” He says wryly. Tiny ignores the comment and gets to work with the help of Joe, prying the wreckage loose. Joe stares into the camera once more.
“Now here’s folks who deal with the only kind of APB anyone cares about. It’s harsh I know, but I think you need it. I’m not the type for a spoonful of sugar; I’m the inoculation that stabs into ya and stings fer days. The truth might just be the kind of medicine you need, Bartsch, we all know the aging male multi-vitamins ain't helpin’ you none. I think what you've been calling ring rust is really rot. While we've got a fine tag team called the Dying Breed at PURE, it seems you’re tryin’ to claim the title of dead horse. One more beating won’t do anything though I guess, huh? You’re being phased out Allen, becoming obsolete, slipping into oblivion.
It’s not flying under the radar; it’s the crash landing of your career. The fans that once cheered for you are starting to turn to a new era of talent and this match is going to play host to lots of folks the fans go rabid for. I just don’t see them pulling as hard for you as they will for the rest of us. It’s almost sad but I think any pity would really just be an opening for you to get a quick one over on me. Now I’m by no means a youngster myself and hell Mania’s an old vet too but take a look at the gusto he comes into this with. I don’t mean it as disrespect but you could learn a thing or two. As of right now I think any betting man sees you as the dark horse. The senior with an illustrious career that’s as long as the skin that’s starting to hang from his bones. The guy desperately struggling to keep his head above water before they finally call him washed up.
I’m partial to the underdog and if it wasn't for the fact I’m joining in this little skirmish, I’d be rooting for ya, I really would. Unfortunately you've been thrown into the mix with the whirlwind on a warpath. Not only do you have to worry about the other individuals in this match you have make sure you’re steering clear of the biggest fish in the pond. If I manage to get my hands on ya Bartsch, they won’t be calling you Portal, they’ll be referencing the new hole that I ripped ya.”
The debris wrenches loose and Tiny goes to hook the damaged metallic husk to the truck, this time the bed of the truck tilts to form a ramp as the entire mass of twisted metal is hauled on. Joe takes a broom and begins to sweep up the broken glass. Suddenly a female voice is heard. “Hey Sarge, got a status on our driver. Serious condition, stable though. He lucked out, but he’s a juvenile.” A thin middle-aged officer is seen in the backdrop shaking his head, “OK, well let’s send someone to the address registered on the plate and let’s see if we can notify the parents.” He replies.
Joe shakes his head as well.
“Now that’s an example of someone else nearly becoming a victim of the live fast, die young lifestyle. The type of reckless shortsighted behavior that Young Mannie, aka the one man audio-visual club, leads. Now last time Mannie was set to stand against Alessandra and I in the ring he took off without bothering to take his dignity with him. He didn't even stick around long enough to get mowed down; he just fluttered off somewhere, I guess they shoulda just called'im the lame attraction. Now Mannie this time I fear there'll be an obstacle course of opposition standin' in your way so you might want to make sure that your oafish man-servant can clear a path for you to run away extra fast. Heck, don’t even bother showin' up for all I care. It’ll be less expended effort doin' something inevitable, leavin' you in the same condition as this car.
At PURE I may just invent a new activity and you can be the first to help it debut, head-hunting for hedonists. I understand the appeal of the party-girl lifestyle you've taken a liking to: it’s flashy, festive, and ain't too hard on the body or mind. Seeing as how you let Alec do all the heavy lifting, it’s becoming clear that yer too afraid of messing up yer manicure to really dig into the competition 'round here. Thing is though, you don’t just come up empty handed when taking on folks physically; you've also proven that you’re not exactly a mastermind either. Look at the feud you've got with Madison that’s quickly gotten out of hand and boiled over into your personal life. So far he's had an upper hand on ya for pretty much the entire time. Almost makes me feel sorry for ya but the opportunity is there to just walk away. After all, from what I've seen it’s what yer good at. How’s that pretty little wife of yours going to feel when I send her man home all broken and gnarled? You gotta good thing with her, more’n’I can say I got relationship wise, so why not treasure it and stroll on home instead of bothering to collect a beating at PURE? Why humiliate yourself with a thrashing? I’d like to think you don’t agree, but I guess we can settle it like men in the ring.”
By now Tiny has finished loading up the vehicle and Joe picks up the last of the debris. The diminutive old man gets an officer to sign off on a tow as other cops starts to break down the scene. Joe and Tiny both hop back in the truck and head back to the tow yard, waving to the police officers as they leave. Tiny leans over to Joe. “Hey fella I've been meaning to ask, my grandson’s sort of a fan. You wouldn't mind a signature would you? I mean shift’s almost over and I don’t wanna let the chance slip by to ask.” Joe removes the baseball cap he has and grabs a pen from the dashboard. “No problem for a fan, Tiny.”
________
The bubbling sounds caught Joe’s attention as the pot came to a satisfactory roil. The bulky bruiser stepped into the kitchenette and emptied the contents of the cookware into a small bowl. He took a seat at the foot of the bed and set his Thanksgiving dinner of Ramen noodles on the dinner tray. After flicking on the TV with a remote, he cracked open a beer and took a sip. “Ah fer cryin’ out loud, I hate holiday movies.” He proclaimed to no one in particular. He shoved a forkful of the stringy noodles into his mouth and decided a liberal dousing of beer would help improve the taste. After changing a few more channels he resigned himself to the fact there wasn't going to be any worthwhile entertainment on the tube.
Joe took a look around the room and then caught sight of the phone. Next to it was an envelope full of money and a brochure for a swanky new set of apartments he was planning on moving into. The attractive young apartment manager on the cover of the periodical smiled in the same feigned flirtatious manner she had when Joe had been given a tour of the units. He could argue that it hadn't worked on him but the fact was he had his first security deposit and month’s rent ready to be made a money order. He picked up the handset and dialed a number.
“Yeah, ma? It’s me. Happy Thanksgiving’n’stuff.”
...
“Well how’s it going?”
...
“Oh yeah?”
...
“They raised it how much?”
..
“Ma, hey listen, ma, stop crying.”
...
“Ma, look you ain't gonna lose the trailer, I got a regular gig now ok? I should have some steady money coming my way, I’ll help you out.”
...
“Yeah so how much are you behind?”
...
“Well how much do they want?”
...
Joe reached over to the envelope and removed half the stack. He crumpled up the brochure and tossed it in the trash can.
...
“Yeah OK ma, don’t worry.”
...
He picked up the newspaper that was under the envelope and unfolded it, turning to the classified section. He popped the lid off a marker and began scanning down the page.
...
“No it’s OK Ma, I still know yer address I’ll send the money, don’t worry.”
...
“Yeah alright. Me too ma.”
*Click*
Suddenly there’s a rough tapping on the shoulder of the dark blue work jacket that reads ‘Tiny’s Towing’ The seemingly frail man turns to face the newcomer, a lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips, an “Eh?” is all he manages to get out before a frowning face begins hurling vulgar obscenities his way. Spiked hair, a fashionable sweater, formal slacks and dress shoes immediately accuse the tow truck driver of being a thief and insult him personally with colorful verbiage. The old man shakes his head and advises the younger man of what the drop fee is. The foul mouthed twenty something belches a string of righteous indignation his way as he adopts a menacing posture. Finally he puts his dukes up and challenges the old man to “knuckle up.”
“Am I hearing this correctly?” a deep rumbling voice announces as another figure emerges from the opposite side of the vehicle. This one is far larger than the aged man but wears a matching jacket. The hefty form rounds the front of the tow truck, revealing it to be none other than Joe Martinez. The trendy young man jumps back with surprise at the scowling bulky bruiser that stomps his way. “Is it true that we've got someone here who’s looking to have an impromptu street fight? ‘Cuz I’d love a few rounds.” Joe is right up in the face of the young man who backs away and lifts his hands in a submissive manner. “Oh, don’t freeze up now, Cochise. Let’s see whatcha got.” The wrestler keeps his approach as the privileged kid stammers and backpedals right into the curb, causing him to fall down onto his back. Joe flashes a triumphant grin as the young man scrambles to his feet and runs off down the street.
“Sorry, Tiny. Was tryinna figure out these cameras they gave me.” says Joe as he pats the tow trucker’s back.
“I could’ve taken that punk.” replies Tiny as he finishes lifting the vehicle, “We’re good.”
Joe hops into the cab with Tiny and the two are on their way.
“Hey, thanks for letting me ride along. Not many folks workin’ on Thanksgivin’. It’s not a problem if I do a bit of trash talkin’ here is it?”
“No worries here.”
Joe looks into the camera that seems to be mounted on the dash board of the moving vehicle. The view catches the old man next to him who is focused on driving and making the most of his smoke.
“It seems that I've got a dance with destiny at the next PURE. The powers that be have managed to make note of the power punching, bone crunching menace they’re calling the ‘average’ Joe. They've stuck me in a free-for-all melee the likes of which is sure to make the history books. While the typical theory is to think that a multi-man rumble is more akin to a dice roll, I might actually be in for something closer to my natural element. I've seen more barroom brawls than I care to count or try to remember. Now seeing as I've become one myself, I figured a ride on a wrecker would give me a bit of insight. See, Tiny here’s a guy who’s used to being assailed on all sides. He does what it takes no matter how ticked off or how fierce the opposition is.”
Joe points to Tiny who nods into the camera.
“I've heard about how folks have called him a profiteering vulture, how they've threatened him, even flashed a weapon or two, but it don’t deter guys like me’n’Tiny. Whatever ya got, it ain't enough to stand in the way of the goal. That’s what guys who get the job done are like: far beyond driven, hell-bent not deterred. That’s why no matter how I’m viewed I need to give my tag partner, Alessandra Nayara a brutal dose of reality. I’m talking directly to ya here, kid. Allow me to apologize ahead of time because once we’re in the arena and that bell rings there ain't gonna be an opportunity for lip-flappin' once the bodies start flyin’.
I was once nineteen too; all bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and snot-nosed. Barely learnin’ how to stand on your own two feet, it’s enough to make me nostalgic. I had to learn through trial and error, and I emphasize the error part, that the only thing you got to really rely on is yourself. Your influence ends at your arm’s reach and your trust ends at what you see. Now we may have been depending on one another to achieve victory during our tag matches but any respite or favor you’re hoping to find is going to snuffed out come the next PURE. See that youthful optimism you still got works against ya, gives ya expectations that’re gonna need to be crushed. You may have heart but it’ll do more than bleed when the match is through.
At this point I feel it’s my duty to show you the ropes, not only as yer bouncin’ off’em into my waiting fists but in a figurative sense too. I know you must look out into your future and see nothin’ but an escalator to success. But while yer expecting green grass, clear skies, and sunny days ahead it falls upon me to teach you about the nightfall and thunderclouds. So when this tempest stress tests and tramples ya, just know it’s not a personal vendetta I’m actin’ out or anything. It’s just the way the world works.”
“We’re here,” Announces Tiny, “just gotta put 'er in a good spot.”
Joe puts on a “Tiny’s Towing” baseball cap and hops out, the older man maneuvers the vehicle and the car is placed down. The driver nods in a satisfied manner as Joe hops into the cab. No sooner is he settled when the radio crackles. “Hey Tiny, SPD’s got a Pounder for ya. Twelfth and Remington court.” Tiny clears his throat and picks up the microphone. “I’m clear Margie, on my way.” The vehicle starts up once more.
“Now Mister Mania, I think a more appropriate diagnosed moniker would be Mark Narcissism. Just how much did you pay those extras and stand-ins to watch your little announcement speech and cheer you on? I could always use an extra buck; you shoulda let me know, I coulda pretended to give a darn about you too. Now I’m not the type to belittle a man’s accomplishments, especially when I’m not really familiar with what those accomplishments are but I do have to say that so far I’m only marginally impressed. I mean you certainly performed in an admirable fashion at the last PURE. You took Cam Carter to the cleaners, wilted Violet Rose’s chances, and handed that J3S fellow an ‘L’ to start his career off with. Nothing to scoff at, but did it really earn you a top spot chance? I’m inclined to say not quite. Regardless of how I may feel about it, in the ring I’m going to get to express myself in the best way I know how - With a punishing volley of disagreement. I’m sure you’ll understand my raging rhetoric, when I counter-point by counter-punching, heck I’ll engage in discourse with a discus elbow smash if that’s what it takes. The use of violence is a language I’m sure we both understand and I've got a dictionary grade vocabulary I’m itchin’ to use.”
The gas guzzler grinds to a halt and both men exit to find Seattle’s boys in blue standing at what must have been a grisly scene. The camera is placed on the hood of the truck revealing a mangled black sedan that’s partially wrapped around a light pole. A few folks revealed to be detectives by their hanging badges snap pictures of the wreckage. Tiny approaches the officers, “Impounding this I’m guessing?” One of the officials nods, “Yeah the traffic investigators are pretty much done here. Should be pretty open and shut, they rushed the drunk guy off to the ER. Luckily he didn't wipe out any bystanders, something to give thanks for I guess.” He says wryly. Tiny ignores the comment and gets to work with the help of Joe, prying the wreckage loose. Joe stares into the camera once more.
“Now here’s folks who deal with the only kind of APB anyone cares about. It’s harsh I know, but I think you need it. I’m not the type for a spoonful of sugar; I’m the inoculation that stabs into ya and stings fer days. The truth might just be the kind of medicine you need, Bartsch, we all know the aging male multi-vitamins ain't helpin’ you none. I think what you've been calling ring rust is really rot. While we've got a fine tag team called the Dying Breed at PURE, it seems you’re tryin’ to claim the title of dead horse. One more beating won’t do anything though I guess, huh? You’re being phased out Allen, becoming obsolete, slipping into oblivion.
It’s not flying under the radar; it’s the crash landing of your career. The fans that once cheered for you are starting to turn to a new era of talent and this match is going to play host to lots of folks the fans go rabid for. I just don’t see them pulling as hard for you as they will for the rest of us. It’s almost sad but I think any pity would really just be an opening for you to get a quick one over on me. Now I’m by no means a youngster myself and hell Mania’s an old vet too but take a look at the gusto he comes into this with. I don’t mean it as disrespect but you could learn a thing or two. As of right now I think any betting man sees you as the dark horse. The senior with an illustrious career that’s as long as the skin that’s starting to hang from his bones. The guy desperately struggling to keep his head above water before they finally call him washed up.
I’m partial to the underdog and if it wasn't for the fact I’m joining in this little skirmish, I’d be rooting for ya, I really would. Unfortunately you've been thrown into the mix with the whirlwind on a warpath. Not only do you have to worry about the other individuals in this match you have make sure you’re steering clear of the biggest fish in the pond. If I manage to get my hands on ya Bartsch, they won’t be calling you Portal, they’ll be referencing the new hole that I ripped ya.”
The debris wrenches loose and Tiny goes to hook the damaged metallic husk to the truck, this time the bed of the truck tilts to form a ramp as the entire mass of twisted metal is hauled on. Joe takes a broom and begins to sweep up the broken glass. Suddenly a female voice is heard. “Hey Sarge, got a status on our driver. Serious condition, stable though. He lucked out, but he’s a juvenile.” A thin middle-aged officer is seen in the backdrop shaking his head, “OK, well let’s send someone to the address registered on the plate and let’s see if we can notify the parents.” He replies.
Joe shakes his head as well.
“Now that’s an example of someone else nearly becoming a victim of the live fast, die young lifestyle. The type of reckless shortsighted behavior that Young Mannie, aka the one man audio-visual club, leads. Now last time Mannie was set to stand against Alessandra and I in the ring he took off without bothering to take his dignity with him. He didn't even stick around long enough to get mowed down; he just fluttered off somewhere, I guess they shoulda just called'im the lame attraction. Now Mannie this time I fear there'll be an obstacle course of opposition standin' in your way so you might want to make sure that your oafish man-servant can clear a path for you to run away extra fast. Heck, don’t even bother showin' up for all I care. It’ll be less expended effort doin' something inevitable, leavin' you in the same condition as this car.
At PURE I may just invent a new activity and you can be the first to help it debut, head-hunting for hedonists. I understand the appeal of the party-girl lifestyle you've taken a liking to: it’s flashy, festive, and ain't too hard on the body or mind. Seeing as how you let Alec do all the heavy lifting, it’s becoming clear that yer too afraid of messing up yer manicure to really dig into the competition 'round here. Thing is though, you don’t just come up empty handed when taking on folks physically; you've also proven that you’re not exactly a mastermind either. Look at the feud you've got with Madison that’s quickly gotten out of hand and boiled over into your personal life. So far he's had an upper hand on ya for pretty much the entire time. Almost makes me feel sorry for ya but the opportunity is there to just walk away. After all, from what I've seen it’s what yer good at. How’s that pretty little wife of yours going to feel when I send her man home all broken and gnarled? You gotta good thing with her, more’n’I can say I got relationship wise, so why not treasure it and stroll on home instead of bothering to collect a beating at PURE? Why humiliate yourself with a thrashing? I’d like to think you don’t agree, but I guess we can settle it like men in the ring.”
By now Tiny has finished loading up the vehicle and Joe picks up the last of the debris. The diminutive old man gets an officer to sign off on a tow as other cops starts to break down the scene. Joe and Tiny both hop back in the truck and head back to the tow yard, waving to the police officers as they leave. Tiny leans over to Joe. “Hey fella I've been meaning to ask, my grandson’s sort of a fan. You wouldn't mind a signature would you? I mean shift’s almost over and I don’t wanna let the chance slip by to ask.” Joe removes the baseball cap he has and grabs a pen from the dashboard. “No problem for a fan, Tiny.”
________
The bubbling sounds caught Joe’s attention as the pot came to a satisfactory roil. The bulky bruiser stepped into the kitchenette and emptied the contents of the cookware into a small bowl. He took a seat at the foot of the bed and set his Thanksgiving dinner of Ramen noodles on the dinner tray. After flicking on the TV with a remote, he cracked open a beer and took a sip. “Ah fer cryin’ out loud, I hate holiday movies.” He proclaimed to no one in particular. He shoved a forkful of the stringy noodles into his mouth and decided a liberal dousing of beer would help improve the taste. After changing a few more channels he resigned himself to the fact there wasn't going to be any worthwhile entertainment on the tube.
Joe took a look around the room and then caught sight of the phone. Next to it was an envelope full of money and a brochure for a swanky new set of apartments he was planning on moving into. The attractive young apartment manager on the cover of the periodical smiled in the same feigned flirtatious manner she had when Joe had been given a tour of the units. He could argue that it hadn't worked on him but the fact was he had his first security deposit and month’s rent ready to be made a money order. He picked up the handset and dialed a number.
“Yeah, ma? It’s me. Happy Thanksgiving’n’stuff.”
...
“Well how’s it going?”
...
“Oh yeah?”
...
“They raised it how much?”
..
“Ma, hey listen, ma, stop crying.”
...
“Ma, look you ain't gonna lose the trailer, I got a regular gig now ok? I should have some steady money coming my way, I’ll help you out.”
...
“Yeah so how much are you behind?”
...
“Well how much do they want?”
...
Joe reached over to the envelope and removed half the stack. He crumpled up the brochure and tossed it in the trash can.
...
“Yeah OK ma, don’t worry.”
...
He picked up the newspaper that was under the envelope and unfolded it, turning to the classified section. He popped the lid off a marker and began scanning down the page.
...
“No it’s OK Ma, I still know yer address I’ll send the money, don’t worry.”
...
“Yeah alright. Me too ma.”
*Click*
