Post by Deleted on Jun 21, 2015 14:31:38 GMT -5
P.A.:Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please be seated, the show will begin in just a few minutes.
Throngs of well dressed people mill about, finding their seats as they chatter among themselves. All of the chairs are pointed toward a catwalk in the middle of the room. Bright lights shine down on it, obscuring the view of the audience. Anxiety and excitement hang thick in the air, as the people around the stage discuss what they might see. Soon the light flash on and off, signalling everyone to be seated and pay attention. After a few moments, heavy, thumping techno music begins to play, as a woman walks out wearing a long, flowing, silver dress. A large collar rises up above her head, and her face is caked with futuristic looking make up. She struts her way down the catwalk as flashes go off all around her, and the people ooh and ah. A polite round of applause as she leaves, and another woman steps on. She is wrapped head to toe in fishnet, and underneath is a pink body suit. The crowd applauds and takes some more pictures as she walks down to the end of the stage and back.
The crowd goes silent at the sight of the next person to walk out from behind the curtain. This person isn’t model at all. It’s a man dressed in a baggy pair of jeans and a Red Wings jersey three sizes too big. His face is painted black white and red, in a manner much like a native tribesman. In one hand is a kendo stick wrapped tightly in barbed wire. In the other hand is a microphone. He steps to the end of the catwalk, and rests the weapon on his shoulder.
Isaiah:If y’all would be kind enough to shut off that shitty fuckin’ music, I got some stuff to say!
He waits for a moment. When it becomes clear the music isn’t going to stop, he walks to the back of the crowd, and climbs into the DJ booth. The DJ tries to stop Isaiah, but Chavis slams his face against the soundboard, simultaneously sending a spray of blood across the equipment, and shutting off the music. Calmly, Isaiah walks back to the stage.
Isaiah:Alright, now listen up you buncha pampered, ivory tower livin’, cake eatin’ mother fuckers. It’s time for me to perpetrate some knowledge up in this bitch! Y’all think you’re fuckin’ safe, don’t you? Y’all ain’t worried about shit. Y’all just sit in places like this, wearing suits that cost more than my house, drinkin’ champagne and spendin’ way too much money to look at shit like this!
Isaiah motions to one of the few models that have made their way on stage to see what’s going on. The woman looks down at her outfit in confusion. Chavis then looks out at the crowd of people, all frightened and grasping onto each other, but all paying rapt attention.
Isaiah:What are you people doin’ with your lives?! Jesus fuck! You come out to places like this, and pay these women to parade around like this, for what? Your own fuckin’ amusement. You ask me, that’s sick as shit.
Isaiah makes his way over to one of the models, and places an arm around her shoulders.
Isaiah:Sweetheart, talk to me. Whats your name.
The girl is hesitant, but eventually talks.
Cassandra:Ca-Cassandra.
Isaiah:It’s ok, don’t be nervous. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Now, Cassandra, tell me somethin’, what all did you have to eat yesterday?
Cassandra: Um… for breakfast I had half a grape and some vitamin water. I skipped lunch because I had a whole grape for breakfast the day before, and then for dinner I had a protein bar, because I’m trying to put on some muscle.
Isaiah gives the woman a look that is a mix of pity and exasperation.
Isaiah:Oh honey… listen, there’s a McDonald’s just across the street. I need you to go over there and order yourself a cheeseburger. Go on.
She gives him another confused look, but makes her way off the stage and out of the room. Isaiah is silent for a moment, looking at the audience like a child who just intentionally poured paint everywhere.
Isaiah:This is why I’m convinced something’s wrong with y’all. Bein’ rich gives you some kinda brain deficiency that makes you think it’s ok to starve young women, and make them parade around advertising dresses ain’t nobody gonna wear. It makes you think that it’s a good idea to turn the country into a bunch of insecure, self loathing douchebags just so they’ll buy your bullshit. It turns the whole world into a dancin’ show for your sick fuckin’ pleasure. My people got a message for you though. Those days are done. FREAK PARADE!
There is silence for a few moments. Afterward, about a hundred men and women begin filing out from backstage, all dressed in black with their faces painted exactly like Isaiah’s. He waits as they shuffle onto the stage, and stand completely still behind him. The unblinking faces stare out into the crowd, bringing forth loud, concerned murmurs. Isaiah smiles.
Isaiah:See, y’all though your little gated community of a reality was safe. It was. It was safe for centuries. You mother fuckers sat at the top, watching all of us under you run around like rats scrapin’ for a little bit of cheese. Not anymore. Now you get to see what it looks like when millions of rats revolt at once. You get to see what it looks like when your gates fail, and we tear down your ivory towers to make pianos for the artists, bowls for the starving, and false teeth for the people in rehab. You get to see what it looks like when every bit of wealth and comfort you’ve built up for yourselves gets taken from you and handed to the people you been steppin’ on and stabbin’ in the back to get it. It’s your worst nightmare come true, and I’m happy as shit to bring it to you.
Isaiah paces back and forth manically, his eyes attempting to search the soul of every single person in the room.
Isaiah: I been addressing you mother fuckers as a group, but now I wanna talk to one of you individually… Celeste. Girl… you gotta understand that you’re everything I hate about these people turned up to eleven. You might think you’re hot shit because of your clothes and your money. You know what I see when I look at you? I see a preening, prissy little show pony, more interested with what people see, than what kind of person you are. I know what kind of person you are though, Celeste. Deep down… so do you. You know you’re the kind of person who bit off way more than she could chew takin’ my challenge. You’re the kind of person who could never beat me in a million years, and I’m gonna tell you why.
Isaiah snaps his fingers, and one of the painted faces behind him moves forward, pushing a chair up so Isaiah can sit down. The wrestler then leans forward, staring into the camera that was meant to record a fashion show.
Isaiah:A lot of people talk about the American dream… gettin’ rich, livin’ exactly the kind of life you got. They get brainwashed into believin’ that’s what’s gonna make them happy, so they work their lives away for it. What no one tells you is that once you get there, that kinda money changes you. It turns your body weak and your brain soft. See, what that kinda money does, it takes away your fear. When you’re poor, when you’re at the bottom, there’s this wolf who’s always chasin’ you. He’s constantly two steps behind you, just waitin’ for you to stumble and fall. One wrong move and you’re bein’ torn limb from limb. Bein’ rich puts that wolf a long way away from you. It makes you forget what havin’ to torture yourself for a victory feels like. I’m here to remind you.
Isaiah sits back, letting his bloodshot eyes scan the room. He gazes in disgust at the people cowering in front of him and his mob.
Isaiah:That’s what makes you and me so different. That wolf is about to rips my legs off and make me into a meal. You don’t wanna lose, I can’t. That hunger, that doom, that fucking wolf is behind me 24/7 and the only thing I can do is win. That’s why my mind and my body stay sharp. I have no choice, and all of that running has turned me into a killing machine, while you’ve been sittin’ back in your comfort. This Sunday, your whole world is gonna get shook up. What we’re doin’ here, tonight… it’s important, but nowhere near as important as what the entire world is gonna watch me do to you at Slam.
Isaiah stands, and kicks the chair away. It flies across the stage with a violent slamming noise. He sets the kendo stick on his shoulder once more, and grins.
Isaiah: What you gotta understand is that this match ain’t just about me and you. This match is about a class war that’s been ragin’ since long before either of us were born. I’ll bet it goes on after we’re both dead too. It’s a war we’re soldiers in whether we like it or not, and I don’t plan on losin’ this battle. I fight for every last one of these people behind me, and every last person held down by the weight of these fat cats that you stand for. These are your people Celeste. Get a good look.
Isaiah jumps down from the stage, and approaches a group of people, causing them to recoil in horror. He climbs up in their table, and crouches down, looking one of the older gentlemen in the eye.
Isaiah:Look at you, with your monocle wearin’ ass, you breakfast ass bitch. You’d last half a second where I’m from. If that.
Chavis sniffs the man with a hungry look in his eye, before jumping off the table and heading back to the stage.
Isaiah:If these are the people you fight for, they deserve your pampered ass. Listen up. When you and me get in that ring on Sunday, it ain’t gonna be pillows and designer furniture and Versace. It’s gonna be steel and barbed wire and blood. It’s gonna be everything I grew up in, and everything you spent your life tryin’ to avoid, only you ain’t gonna be able to escape. I’m gonna fuck up that pretty little face of yours somethin’ nasty. I’m gonna drag you across all nine circles of hell, and introduce you to my fam as we roll through. Most importantly, I’m gonna show the whole world that all this wealth, all this comfort and safety you’ve bought for yourself doesn’t mean a god damn thing when you’re dumb enough to fuck with the Juggalo Warrior. Tonight I shake up these fools’ world. Sunday, I shake up the entire world. Have a good week Celeste. Enjoy your money. Pretend it matters. Come Monday you’ll know the truth.
Isaiah chuckles, and throws his fist in the air.
Isaiah:FREAK PARADE! PRESENT ARMS!
At his call, every single person behind him pulls their hands from behind their back, revealing a two liter bottle of Faygo.
Isaiah:READY ARMS!
They all begin to shake their bottles simultaneously. Isaiah lets this continue for a minute before holding up his hand, stopping them all at once. A moment of tense silence hangs in the air.
Isaiah:FUCK ‘EM UP!
The painted mob pops the tops off of their sodas, spraying the audience with reckless abandon. Liquids of red, blue, purple, and brown fly everywhere, staining the white walls, and dousing the crowd. People scream as if a murder is taking place, as they stumble over each other to escape. This only creates more chaos. Chavis throws his head back in laughter, as his soldiers reload from a set of large coolers backstage. Almost as soon as the second wave begins, the doors burst open, and police officers come streaming in. A few begin arresting members of the mob, but a large group sees Isaiah, and immediately grab him off the stage. He tries to struggle, but he quickly feels a billy club slam into the back of his head. Only darkness follows.
__ _ _ _ ___________
The cell is cold and damp, but at least it’s empty. Isaiah sits on a metal bench, his back against the concrete wall, his head pounding. He keeps his eyes closed, but every time a guard slams a door shut, a fresh wave of agony washes over him from top to bottom. It seems like hours before a guard walks in and shouts.
Guard:Liebowitz!
His booming voice echoes off the walls, causing Isaiah to wince.
Isaiah:Yeah what?
Guard:Congrats. You made bail. You can thank your buddy here.
It is only then Isaiah opens his eyes to see William staring back at him from the other side of the bars. Isaiah winces again, but relaxes when he sees not disappointment or horror on William’s face, but amusement. The wrestler’s eyes immediately drop to the floor in shame.
William:You never told me your last name was Liebowitz.
Isaiah:It won’t be once I can afford to get it changed.
The guard opens the door with a deafening clang, and Isaiah slowly stands, still unable to look William in the eye. They make their way away from the holding cell, and into the lobby area, passing through a couple gates beforehand. Isaiah keeps his gaze on the floor, and no one speaks. It’s only when they are out of the station and sitting in Williams car that Isaiah breaks the silence.
Isaiah:Sorry I called you. I know it’s weird as shit, but Aisha’s out of town.
William chuckles, and leans back in the driver’s seat, his smooth British accent putting Isaiah at ease..
William:Don’t worry about that. I’m just glad you’re alright. You know, they want to charge you with assault, as well as inciting a riot.
Chavis drops his face to his hands, smearing what’s left of his disappearing face paint.
Isaiah:Fuck. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.
William:I’ll have my lawyer take care of it. He’s brilliant at this sort of thing. You’ll be down to community service.
Isaiah slowly turns his head to look up at William.
Isaiah:You’d do that for me? But-
William:Look, I know we’ve only been on one date, but I really like you Isaiah. I want to see if this can work, and our chances drop severely if you’ve been put away for breaking a sound engineer’s nose.
Isaiah:But how can you afford…
Isaiah looks around for the first time, and sees a brand new car enveloping him. He looks at the dashboard, and a large tablet like screen stares back at him. He looks up at William again, this time with a look of surprise.
Isaiah:I just realized I never asked you what you do for a living.
William:No, if I recall we were too busy on arguing about how similar Sublime and your Kottonmouth Kings are.
Isaiah:They couldn’t be more different. I ain’t havin’ this argument with you again.
William:You’re out of your mind, but that’s not important at the moment. To answer your question, you know about Jdate, right?
Isaiah:You invented Jdate?
William:No, but I did invent J-date. It’s a service that helps marijuana users connect with other marijuana users. It’s been wildly successful. Now I have to ask you something.
William slips his hand around Isaiah’s, causing the wrestler’s heart to begin pumping noticeably faster.
William:Is this sort of thing… a common occurrence for you?
Isaiah stares out the windshield at the red brick building, trying to find the right answer.
Isaiah:I wouldn’t say common, but it ain’t the first time.
William laughs loudly as he starts the car.
William:Well that’s a good enough answer for now. Let’s get you home, shall we?
Isaiah’s mind flashes to his living room, and that mask sitting on the table... waiting for him.
Isaiah:No! Sorry, no. I don’t wanna go home right now. You mind if we grab something to eat?
William:Absolutely. here should we go?
Isaiah:I don’t care. Surprise me. It’s been a boring day.
William chuckles again, and begins to guide the car through the parking lot, as Isaiah wraps himself around William’s free arm, resting his head on the man’s shoulder. He closes his eyes, and smiles. The headache is gone. All he can feel is the amazing man next to him, making everything better.
Throngs of well dressed people mill about, finding their seats as they chatter among themselves. All of the chairs are pointed toward a catwalk in the middle of the room. Bright lights shine down on it, obscuring the view of the audience. Anxiety and excitement hang thick in the air, as the people around the stage discuss what they might see. Soon the light flash on and off, signalling everyone to be seated and pay attention. After a few moments, heavy, thumping techno music begins to play, as a woman walks out wearing a long, flowing, silver dress. A large collar rises up above her head, and her face is caked with futuristic looking make up. She struts her way down the catwalk as flashes go off all around her, and the people ooh and ah. A polite round of applause as she leaves, and another woman steps on. She is wrapped head to toe in fishnet, and underneath is a pink body suit. The crowd applauds and takes some more pictures as she walks down to the end of the stage and back.
The crowd goes silent at the sight of the next person to walk out from behind the curtain. This person isn’t model at all. It’s a man dressed in a baggy pair of jeans and a Red Wings jersey three sizes too big. His face is painted black white and red, in a manner much like a native tribesman. In one hand is a kendo stick wrapped tightly in barbed wire. In the other hand is a microphone. He steps to the end of the catwalk, and rests the weapon on his shoulder.
Isaiah:If y’all would be kind enough to shut off that shitty fuckin’ music, I got some stuff to say!
He waits for a moment. When it becomes clear the music isn’t going to stop, he walks to the back of the crowd, and climbs into the DJ booth. The DJ tries to stop Isaiah, but Chavis slams his face against the soundboard, simultaneously sending a spray of blood across the equipment, and shutting off the music. Calmly, Isaiah walks back to the stage.
Isaiah:Alright, now listen up you buncha pampered, ivory tower livin’, cake eatin’ mother fuckers. It’s time for me to perpetrate some knowledge up in this bitch! Y’all think you’re fuckin’ safe, don’t you? Y’all ain’t worried about shit. Y’all just sit in places like this, wearing suits that cost more than my house, drinkin’ champagne and spendin’ way too much money to look at shit like this!
Isaiah motions to one of the few models that have made their way on stage to see what’s going on. The woman looks down at her outfit in confusion. Chavis then looks out at the crowd of people, all frightened and grasping onto each other, but all paying rapt attention.
Isaiah:What are you people doin’ with your lives?! Jesus fuck! You come out to places like this, and pay these women to parade around like this, for what? Your own fuckin’ amusement. You ask me, that’s sick as shit.
Isaiah makes his way over to one of the models, and places an arm around her shoulders.
Isaiah:Sweetheart, talk to me. Whats your name.
The girl is hesitant, but eventually talks.
Cassandra:Ca-Cassandra.
Isaiah:It’s ok, don’t be nervous. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Now, Cassandra, tell me somethin’, what all did you have to eat yesterday?
Cassandra: Um… for breakfast I had half a grape and some vitamin water. I skipped lunch because I had a whole grape for breakfast the day before, and then for dinner I had a protein bar, because I’m trying to put on some muscle.
Isaiah gives the woman a look that is a mix of pity and exasperation.
Isaiah:Oh honey… listen, there’s a McDonald’s just across the street. I need you to go over there and order yourself a cheeseburger. Go on.
She gives him another confused look, but makes her way off the stage and out of the room. Isaiah is silent for a moment, looking at the audience like a child who just intentionally poured paint everywhere.
Isaiah:This is why I’m convinced something’s wrong with y’all. Bein’ rich gives you some kinda brain deficiency that makes you think it’s ok to starve young women, and make them parade around advertising dresses ain’t nobody gonna wear. It makes you think that it’s a good idea to turn the country into a bunch of insecure, self loathing douchebags just so they’ll buy your bullshit. It turns the whole world into a dancin’ show for your sick fuckin’ pleasure. My people got a message for you though. Those days are done. FREAK PARADE!
There is silence for a few moments. Afterward, about a hundred men and women begin filing out from backstage, all dressed in black with their faces painted exactly like Isaiah’s. He waits as they shuffle onto the stage, and stand completely still behind him. The unblinking faces stare out into the crowd, bringing forth loud, concerned murmurs. Isaiah smiles.
Isaiah:See, y’all though your little gated community of a reality was safe. It was. It was safe for centuries. You mother fuckers sat at the top, watching all of us under you run around like rats scrapin’ for a little bit of cheese. Not anymore. Now you get to see what it looks like when millions of rats revolt at once. You get to see what it looks like when your gates fail, and we tear down your ivory towers to make pianos for the artists, bowls for the starving, and false teeth for the people in rehab. You get to see what it looks like when every bit of wealth and comfort you’ve built up for yourselves gets taken from you and handed to the people you been steppin’ on and stabbin’ in the back to get it. It’s your worst nightmare come true, and I’m happy as shit to bring it to you.
Isaiah paces back and forth manically, his eyes attempting to search the soul of every single person in the room.
Isaiah: I been addressing you mother fuckers as a group, but now I wanna talk to one of you individually… Celeste. Girl… you gotta understand that you’re everything I hate about these people turned up to eleven. You might think you’re hot shit because of your clothes and your money. You know what I see when I look at you? I see a preening, prissy little show pony, more interested with what people see, than what kind of person you are. I know what kind of person you are though, Celeste. Deep down… so do you. You know you’re the kind of person who bit off way more than she could chew takin’ my challenge. You’re the kind of person who could never beat me in a million years, and I’m gonna tell you why.
Isaiah snaps his fingers, and one of the painted faces behind him moves forward, pushing a chair up so Isaiah can sit down. The wrestler then leans forward, staring into the camera that was meant to record a fashion show.
Isaiah:A lot of people talk about the American dream… gettin’ rich, livin’ exactly the kind of life you got. They get brainwashed into believin’ that’s what’s gonna make them happy, so they work their lives away for it. What no one tells you is that once you get there, that kinda money changes you. It turns your body weak and your brain soft. See, what that kinda money does, it takes away your fear. When you’re poor, when you’re at the bottom, there’s this wolf who’s always chasin’ you. He’s constantly two steps behind you, just waitin’ for you to stumble and fall. One wrong move and you’re bein’ torn limb from limb. Bein’ rich puts that wolf a long way away from you. It makes you forget what havin’ to torture yourself for a victory feels like. I’m here to remind you.
Isaiah sits back, letting his bloodshot eyes scan the room. He gazes in disgust at the people cowering in front of him and his mob.
Isaiah:That’s what makes you and me so different. That wolf is about to rips my legs off and make me into a meal. You don’t wanna lose, I can’t. That hunger, that doom, that fucking wolf is behind me 24/7 and the only thing I can do is win. That’s why my mind and my body stay sharp. I have no choice, and all of that running has turned me into a killing machine, while you’ve been sittin’ back in your comfort. This Sunday, your whole world is gonna get shook up. What we’re doin’ here, tonight… it’s important, but nowhere near as important as what the entire world is gonna watch me do to you at Slam.
Isaiah stands, and kicks the chair away. It flies across the stage with a violent slamming noise. He sets the kendo stick on his shoulder once more, and grins.
Isaiah: What you gotta understand is that this match ain’t just about me and you. This match is about a class war that’s been ragin’ since long before either of us were born. I’ll bet it goes on after we’re both dead too. It’s a war we’re soldiers in whether we like it or not, and I don’t plan on losin’ this battle. I fight for every last one of these people behind me, and every last person held down by the weight of these fat cats that you stand for. These are your people Celeste. Get a good look.
Isaiah jumps down from the stage, and approaches a group of people, causing them to recoil in horror. He climbs up in their table, and crouches down, looking one of the older gentlemen in the eye.
Isaiah:Look at you, with your monocle wearin’ ass, you breakfast ass bitch. You’d last half a second where I’m from. If that.
Chavis sniffs the man with a hungry look in his eye, before jumping off the table and heading back to the stage.
Isaiah:If these are the people you fight for, they deserve your pampered ass. Listen up. When you and me get in that ring on Sunday, it ain’t gonna be pillows and designer furniture and Versace. It’s gonna be steel and barbed wire and blood. It’s gonna be everything I grew up in, and everything you spent your life tryin’ to avoid, only you ain’t gonna be able to escape. I’m gonna fuck up that pretty little face of yours somethin’ nasty. I’m gonna drag you across all nine circles of hell, and introduce you to my fam as we roll through. Most importantly, I’m gonna show the whole world that all this wealth, all this comfort and safety you’ve bought for yourself doesn’t mean a god damn thing when you’re dumb enough to fuck with the Juggalo Warrior. Tonight I shake up these fools’ world. Sunday, I shake up the entire world. Have a good week Celeste. Enjoy your money. Pretend it matters. Come Monday you’ll know the truth.
Isaiah chuckles, and throws his fist in the air.
Isaiah:FREAK PARADE! PRESENT ARMS!
At his call, every single person behind him pulls their hands from behind their back, revealing a two liter bottle of Faygo.
Isaiah:READY ARMS!
They all begin to shake their bottles simultaneously. Isaiah lets this continue for a minute before holding up his hand, stopping them all at once. A moment of tense silence hangs in the air.
Isaiah:FUCK ‘EM UP!
The painted mob pops the tops off of their sodas, spraying the audience with reckless abandon. Liquids of red, blue, purple, and brown fly everywhere, staining the white walls, and dousing the crowd. People scream as if a murder is taking place, as they stumble over each other to escape. This only creates more chaos. Chavis throws his head back in laughter, as his soldiers reload from a set of large coolers backstage. Almost as soon as the second wave begins, the doors burst open, and police officers come streaming in. A few begin arresting members of the mob, but a large group sees Isaiah, and immediately grab him off the stage. He tries to struggle, but he quickly feels a billy club slam into the back of his head. Only darkness follows.
__ _ _ _ ___________
The cell is cold and damp, but at least it’s empty. Isaiah sits on a metal bench, his back against the concrete wall, his head pounding. He keeps his eyes closed, but every time a guard slams a door shut, a fresh wave of agony washes over him from top to bottom. It seems like hours before a guard walks in and shouts.
Guard:Liebowitz!
His booming voice echoes off the walls, causing Isaiah to wince.
Isaiah:Yeah what?
Guard:Congrats. You made bail. You can thank your buddy here.
It is only then Isaiah opens his eyes to see William staring back at him from the other side of the bars. Isaiah winces again, but relaxes when he sees not disappointment or horror on William’s face, but amusement. The wrestler’s eyes immediately drop to the floor in shame.
William:You never told me your last name was Liebowitz.
Isaiah:It won’t be once I can afford to get it changed.
The guard opens the door with a deafening clang, and Isaiah slowly stands, still unable to look William in the eye. They make their way away from the holding cell, and into the lobby area, passing through a couple gates beforehand. Isaiah keeps his gaze on the floor, and no one speaks. It’s only when they are out of the station and sitting in Williams car that Isaiah breaks the silence.
Isaiah:Sorry I called you. I know it’s weird as shit, but Aisha’s out of town.
William chuckles, and leans back in the driver’s seat, his smooth British accent putting Isaiah at ease..
William:Don’t worry about that. I’m just glad you’re alright. You know, they want to charge you with assault, as well as inciting a riot.
Chavis drops his face to his hands, smearing what’s left of his disappearing face paint.
Isaiah:Fuck. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.
William:I’ll have my lawyer take care of it. He’s brilliant at this sort of thing. You’ll be down to community service.
Isaiah slowly turns his head to look up at William.
Isaiah:You’d do that for me? But-
William:Look, I know we’ve only been on one date, but I really like you Isaiah. I want to see if this can work, and our chances drop severely if you’ve been put away for breaking a sound engineer’s nose.
Isaiah:But how can you afford…
Isaiah looks around for the first time, and sees a brand new car enveloping him. He looks at the dashboard, and a large tablet like screen stares back at him. He looks up at William again, this time with a look of surprise.
Isaiah:I just realized I never asked you what you do for a living.
William:No, if I recall we were too busy on arguing about how similar Sublime and your Kottonmouth Kings are.
Isaiah:They couldn’t be more different. I ain’t havin’ this argument with you again.
William:You’re out of your mind, but that’s not important at the moment. To answer your question, you know about Jdate, right?
Isaiah:You invented Jdate?
William:No, but I did invent J-date. It’s a service that helps marijuana users connect with other marijuana users. It’s been wildly successful. Now I have to ask you something.
William slips his hand around Isaiah’s, causing the wrestler’s heart to begin pumping noticeably faster.
William:Is this sort of thing… a common occurrence for you?
Isaiah stares out the windshield at the red brick building, trying to find the right answer.
Isaiah:I wouldn’t say common, but it ain’t the first time.
William laughs loudly as he starts the car.
William:Well that’s a good enough answer for now. Let’s get you home, shall we?
Isaiah’s mind flashes to his living room, and that mask sitting on the table... waiting for him.
Isaiah:No! Sorry, no. I don’t wanna go home right now. You mind if we grab something to eat?
William:Absolutely. here should we go?
Isaiah:I don’t care. Surprise me. It’s been a boring day.
William chuckles again, and begins to guide the car through the parking lot, as Isaiah wraps himself around William’s free arm, resting his head on the man’s shoulder. He closes his eyes, and smiles. The headache is gone. All he can feel is the amazing man next to him, making everything better.
