****^^^^^*_Slow Blow **—*****&*

‘'No! Don’t waste it!’ ‘Shit man you blew all over it’. Now it is covering the carpet unseen in a snowy white fluff. She’s crying as he gets more furious. He approaches her, his arms out ready to..her brother, Angel walks in. ‘Any for me?’ he drawls,. ‘No!’, replies Dogman ‘she gone and blew it over a snowy white fluffball!’. ‘Hey calm down man and put your fucking fists down you hear?’ Angel stares giving him the shakes. ‘You weren’t gonna hit my lil sis now were ya?’ He pushes him as Cindy starts crying harder and screaming. ‘You muthafuckn hood’ ‘Ha you think you would even make the Gritters hey?’ He laughs hard as Dogman turns bright as a beetroot. Angel sits down next to Cindy, taking her hand. ’it’s ok lil sis. I got us some more ya’. At hearing this Dogman stalks over but Angel has his backhand waiting, ready to slap or punch easily.

Flying high like a jet engine they ride cruising the dirty streets of inner west LA shouting over Dr Dre and Niggaz With Attitude. Everyone’s had a taste and they are looking for a party or some place just to hang around for a while. You know like chilln back. Pulling up they jump out, Dogman tugging on the rope his Bullie is on, its black studded collar sparkling in the afternoon sun. ‘Hey whoooar!’ he jests to his animal to stop sniffing Cindy’s crotch. ‘Hey Dog keep ya filthy animal away from us!’ Angel backhands, banging on the door as another black man opens guiding them in smiling.

‘Whatch a you doin round these parts now hear?’ he states punching out each vowel, spitting out his cigar trash. An open fire flickers throwing out sparks making direct hit sounds. ‘How ya been Ol’ Rouge’, Angel speaks with reverence to the older man bowing as he talks. ‘Well with you lot banging round tha LA cops wha’ ya thinkn’?’ Close to jail time Angel counts his days every one as lucky now.

Ol’ Rouge lays out three lines of top notch crystal meth, using tiny utensils to spread the drug just so. This can take up to an hour so Angel puts on a Bob Marley CD and Cindy and him dance twirling each other around laughing. Ol’ Rouge smiles. He still likes the children round these parts giving them a sense of security. His bad days behind him no matter how or what he says, does, the gangsters will always fight, get in the pit. Bars locked up. Some for life. The gang members remember these dudes with respect.

Passing a slightly twisted straw Ol’ Rouge sits back to watch as Angel lowers his head to sniff the snowy flakey substance, sucking in a hefty intake, coughing as he jumps back in his chair, eyes wide as opals. He passes the straw to Dogman who gives it to the dog. ‘Hey man, look!’ he laughs, Angel smiling as Ol’ Rouge grins patting the animal as Dogman withdraws his stash, snorting loudly his head thrown back. ‘ Oh man! The taste going down ma throat!’ He grimaces looking at the happy faces of the other two men. ‘It’s fucking disgust…ING!’. He pronounced this last word with a shout; like a 1, 2, 3 hanging in the air along with the haughty laughter of all three of them who all begin singing an Eminem song which features the word. Rapping boldly now, each one takes a line, adding his own take.

Giving out a driving, powerful performance they sing and talk in sync catching each vowel like it was a mosquito. As the rapping builds raising their voices holding arms as brothers a sudden crash and four policemen are standing over them, guns pointed straight for the eyes.

‘Shutup! Get down. I said nigger get down!’. He kicked Angel who was trying his best at crawling away while another cop handcuffed Dogman to the table leg demanding that he squat. He spat at the cop but the policeman only became more furious taking out his baton, swinging it back hard and smashing it down onto Dognan’s head which had sudden dark blood like a river flowing on the floor. The cop persisted picking him up by the scruff, putting his knukle busters on and fiercely punching him insistently over and again as Ol’ Rouge moaned in pain his arm being twisted by another cop.

Kicking over the table but not before scraping up the crystal meth, placing it in his pocket the top cop hollered to his colleagues.

‘Get these sons of bitches down the station and then we can have some fun. Hay, what you think? The German Twist?’ His working mates all nodded laughing at this reference to some form of torture.

They drag the three out the door in one minute, throwing, kicking them all into the back of a small unmarked van. They take off, squealing, drawing a line over the bridge.

It’s sunset. The smoky orange floats by as the moon turns its easel over to paint a picture.