Post by Deleted on Dec 18, 2011 3:55:53 GMT -5
Filed Under: Symmetry Of The Stars (Or, "Under A Belfast Sky")
Jam Willy Jesus is magic, or so they say. Right now Jam Willy is marching down a North Dakota roadway on a cold, December night. His coonskin parka and tattered jeans offer him some, though little protection against the frigid conditions. Still though, Jam Willy is resolute in the face of adversity. This ain't a road that's paved with gold or good intentions. This is a road that's paved with pain. That's Jam Willy's kind of road. Hitching is fairly pointless, seeing as there ain't much in the way of commuter traffic by which Jam Willy can hitch a ride. Thus Willy is doing the work that must be done as he treks toward his hometown of Belfast, which is nestled in the bosom of rural Americana. It is a daunting task for a simple country boy, but the man who shares his name with the Messiah is certainly up for the task, even if his shuddering flesh and the icicles dangling from his nostrils and beard tell a different story.
Jam Willy's pace, in itself, isn't what one would desire under the circumstances, though Jam Willy is the type of fella who will soldier forth until his untimely demise, and as they say... Jam Willy Jesus is magic.
Jam Willy Jesus: "Lord, awaken my shufflin' feet. Give me the strength to persevere durin' this time of adversity. I will offer you a bottle of Jack and a bag of that good weed iffin' you guide me through this."
Jam Willy flashes a hopeful wink toward the power that ranks even higher than he. This ain't the only scene that we're going to be seeing though. Within moments our perspective changes to an innard shot of a diner, at morning time, dawn to be precise, with beams of sunlight peering in through the windows, illuminating the early breakfast crowd. We see a gray-bearded hillbilly, an old man with a Yosemite Sam complex seated at the counter. No more than two seats away from him is a younger though grizzled in his own right trucker, replete with trucker hat and flannel shirt.
Gray-Bearded Hillbilly: "Did you know that in Finland, that singer chick Dido is considered strange, exotic meat?"
Grizzled Trucker: "Course I knew that. Who don't know that shit, Grampops?"
The gray-bearded hillbilly, identified as Grampops, strokes his beard a little before responding.
Grampops: "Roy Speede, that's who!"
Grampops and the trucker share a motherfucker of a laugh. They laugh like neo-cons on Fox News who are getting away with pulling the wool over America's eyes. It's not long before their fun is brought to a screeching halt by the harbinger of justice around these parts.
Jam Willy: "Hey! You don't talk 'bout Roy Speede like that!"
Grampops and the trucker feel their breakfasts sinking into the bowels of their respective trousers. They did not count upon being interrupted when they were having their good, guilty, country-boy fun.
Grampops: "Sorry, Jam Willy. I didn't even know you was here. Didn't hear your truck."
Jam Willy: "That's on account-a it's back in Readin', PA , stripped to shit. I done walked back here."
Jam Willy sits down at the counter, in between Grampops and the trucker. A piping hot pot of coffee is placed upon the counter by unseen hands. Jam Willy shakes off the chill in his bones and his soul, picks up the pot with his bare hands and guzzles the coffee down like it's chocolate milk. He places the empty coffee pot on the counter and it's taken away by those same unseen hands that put it there.
Jam Willy: "I got reason ta suspect Switches is the culprit. Hell, who am I kiddin'? I know the sunnuva bitch done did it."
Grampops shoves a cupful of blackened brew down his gullet.
Grampops: "How you figure, Willy?"
Jam Willy, with eager thoughts of bacon strips and home fries on his mind, responds to the scraggly old gent.
Jam Willy: "Who else woulda dun it? Switches is my only enemy in Dub-See-Eff. I'm one of the most popular superstars they got. Hell, I got their top-sellin' T-shirt right now."
Switches casually pulls back the sides of his coonskin coat and reveals that he's wearing the über-popular Jam Willy Jesus "I Am NOT A Nihilist!" T-shirt. Jam Willy is depicted on the shirt with his arms raised triumphantly, a jubilant sneer upon his beardly face, and wearing his beaded necklace that all the chicks dig.
Trucker: "But wasn't you and Switches brawlin' into the crowd and such? When did he have the chance to fuck with yer truck?"
Jam Willy: "A valid question, Leon. See, after Switches and I finished brawlin' on account-a them security guards finally did separate us, I went back to my locker room. I sat there stewin' and drinkin', drinkin' and stewin'. I finished off my six-pack of Jack--"
Leon the trucker's ears perk up.
Leon: "They sell Jack Daniels in a six-pack, Willy?"
Jam Willy: "Not a'zactly, Leon. I buy six bottles of Jack at once and then it becomes a six-pack of Jack."
Leon taps his noggin with the point of his index finger.
Leon: "Now that's smart. You always thinkin', Jam Willy."
Jam Willy: "Problem is, once I tapped the last bottle I had nothin' left to drink. Sure they have a Coke machine at the Arena and some beer vendors and such... but I can only drink beer with breakfast. Once I been brawlin', I need that Jack in me."
Grampops: "Tis' a soothin' elixir."
Jam Willy: "A'zactly. So I walked out to the parkin' lot to get in my truck and head over yonder to the liquor store and..."
Jam Willy's heart sinks in his chest as he regales the harrowing tale. You can tell his heart is sinking because he's got an expression on his face like a man who just ate a rancid plate of clams casino.
Jam Willy: "The horror... the horror. Henrietta's exhaust pipe had been bent skyward and shat in. The windows had been smashed to holy hell. An additional smatterin' o' feces--"
Jam Willy gestures broadly with his hand while his face turns a whiter shade of pale.
Jam Willy: "Had been deposited upon the cloth of the bench seat inside of my poor, poor baby. The steerin' wheel had been viciously disjointed from the steerin' column."
Willy's face twists and contorts, much like the steering column that he describes, as tears well in his eyes.
Jam Willy: "The engine had been disassembled from top to bottom, by someone who took their time. They knew what they was doin' and they enjoyed they work. Now either it was Switches who done it or his proxy Tommy, who had been ordered to do it under threat of death. Either way, Switches will be the one to pay."
Grampops appears devastated by Jam Willy's story, his hardened old face is now glum and dour.
Grampops: "Poor Henrietta. She was a fine truck. American-made, not like this shit they got out there now. They call 'em American but they's made in Hong Kong or Holland or one-a-dem countries. Damn Commie bastards!"
Grampops slams his fist upon the counter-top. He's calmed only by the hushed tones of a bosomy waitress. Grampops casts a creepy smile at her and she spins on her tender heel and promptly skedaddles.
Leon looks uneasy in his own right, after hearing Jam Willy's story, but he's a trucker by trade and he's seen this kind of thing before.
Leon: "Well uh... are ya gonna pay to have 'er fixed, Jam Willy?"
Jam Willy: *sigh*
Jam Willy finally receives his bacon and home fries. He didn't even have to place an order. That hottie waitress with the big tits and the three kids at home knows what to get the J-Dub, ass-kickin', guru of the good times. It's an unspoken bond.
Jam Willy: "You know I would. I loved that truck even though she was on her dyin' legs. Prollem is fuckin' Lerch pays in Planters and my name ain't Mr. Peanut."
Grampops: "I sure as shit don't see no top hat or monocle, moo-haw!"
Jam Willy: "Laugh it up, Grampops. You'll get cancer soon enough with them devil sticks you be smokin'."
Leon: "Ain't no reason to be mean, Jam Willy."
Leon slurps up some of that black-tar style coffee. Yep, that's how they drink it out here in the country.
Jam Willy: "Mean? You mean like that noise you was speakin' 'bout Roy Speede when I walked upon ya?"
Grampops: "That was a private conversation, Jam Willy."
A forkful of home fries is lifted into Jam Willy's mouth. He takes a split-second to chew upon the divine breakfast concoction before swallowing it.
Jam Willy: "Private, my ass. You're on my territory, Grampops. I will have you know somethin' right here and now: Yes, Roy Speede is oftentimes an unbearable douchebag, but at his core Speede is a good, hard-workin', industrious young man. He held his own against Odin Balfore, that there Dubya-See-Eff World Champion, and even managed to pin the Norse God. We're partners this week and I will do my damnedest to watch Roy's back and protect him from harm, iffin' supposin' he does the same for yours truly."
Grampops earnestly attempts to make amends for his anti-Speede rhetoric from earlier.
Grampops: "Well, I... we, uh..."
Leon waves off Grampops' implications.
Leon: "Don't drag me into this. That was a foot that you done did stuck into yer own mouth, Grampops."
Grampops: "Yer, well... I'm sorry, Jam Willy."
Jam Willy: "Not a prollem, Grampops. You'll buy my breakfast to make up for it."
Grampops: "You shittin' me, Willy? I'm on the Social in-Securiteh!"
Jam Willy: "Which means you clearin' more bones per month than me."
Grampops: "Fudge stickles, man... ain't my fault yer workin' for Lerch."
Grampops slams the last of his toast onto the last of his hardened egg yolk and dismisses it all with a flickering of cigarette ashes.
Jam Willy: "You also buyin' me a pack a smokes."
Grampops: "Ahh, fuck you, Willy. You ain't been nothin' but trouble since you signed with the Dub-See-Eff."
Jam Willy: "And trouble is what I intend to bring from here on out, especially as it relates to a certain clown."
Leon dunks a doughnut into his morning java and looks knowingly toward Jam Willy.
Leon: "You got Switches on the mind, Willy?"
Jam Willy suckles on a strip of bacon like it was a clitoris before addressing the rhetorical question that was addressed to him.
Jam Willy: "You know it, Leon. I'm so tired of this Switches mofo. I've never felt blood lust like this before, and I done killed a man. I want to end Switches, just like I toll Hanklin "The Hankford" Brown on Slam. I want to kill Switches and end his life, once an' for all. I will tell the both of ya right now, Henrietta's demise will not be in vain. I buried that sweet lady with my bare hands and an iron-wrought shovel in the soil next to Dub-See-Eff Arena. My anger--"
Jam Willy takes a deep, heavy breath as the rage brews inside his eyes.
Jam Willy: "My anger will not subside until it is unleashed upon Switches at Slam and again at One. My feet that were made to do all that walkin' from Readin' to Belfast? Oh, they will have a full artillery of ass-kickin' and curb-stompin' stocked up for that grease-painted son of a bitch!"
Grampops shucks more ciggy ashes onto his breakfast plate.
Grampops: "I almost... I shudder to think what's next, Jam Willy. That was some brawl you fellas had on Slam, all the way into the stands. Weapons drawn and all that shit. I could'na believe what my eyes was seein'. We all went down to Ray's Bar to watch the fights that night and it was a spectacle, man. You and Switches busted away from them security guards and just kept goin'. I was like... Whoa!"
The old man's eyes widen and his jaw drops as he relives those images from the TV screen.
Jam Willy: "Yessir, I know. It was like watchin' The Matrix for the first time, wudint it? Two opposin' forces offerin' a final resolution to a conflict that has shed endless blood and birthed endless pain. And that was just a teaser, gentlemen."
Jam Willy smirks, hiding his true feelings, as violence races in his brain. His eyes are locked in a hateful glare, as if he can see the slashed-and-stitched face of Jam Willy in front of him.
Leon nods in hearty agreement, narrowly avoiding a gruesome heart attack in front of the other patrons of the diner.
Leon: "Thas my beef with Dub-See-Eff. You two knocked each other outta the ring and kept on goin' and ya even had ya weapons drawn and shit, but them cameras barely covered it. They gave all the attention to Miles and Fly!"
Jam Willy: "I hear ya, Leon. In the heat of the moment those two put on a show, but where did Miles go when it was all said and done? He's already proclaimed himself to be... outtie, as teh kids say. Heh. So much for bein' the 'Epitome o' Cool'. Miles couldn't handle the heat of the Dub-See-Eff flame. I don't know what to make of Fly. Much has been stated about his past, but frankly I jus' don't know whether the man is comin' nor goin'. He's got a fightin' spirit, but he's also the first one to be braggin' about it, talkin' hisself up."
Grampops: "Don't go trustin' that man iffin' supposin' you don't know where his head is at, Willy!"
Jam Willy: "I hear your words, Grampops, and they are ringin' loud and clear."
Leon: "Why they got ya stuck teamin' with Speede and Fly anyway, Willy?"
Another strip of bacon finds its way down Jam Willy's gullet in a most sexual of manners.
Jam Willy: "It's an opportuniteh, Leon. Thas how I gaze upon it. Some people say that there ain't a rhyme nor reason for them clusterin' fucks that Lerch books. The way I look at it, Jam Willy's stars are all lined up for this match. When you got three men with similar goals and agendas on the same team, there's a symmetry to it all. Now you think about them other guys, they already lost Aaron Miles. All they got left is Switches and Odin Balfore's bitch Ryan Blake. My focus is on Switches, a-course, but if Blake gets in my way... he'll find hisself on the business end of a Jam Willy Jesus signature disembowelment. I ain't playin' with either-a them mufuckas."
Grampops and Leon nod their heads and don't say much more as Willy finishes up his breakfast and then hits the can. When Jam Willy returns, Leon calls out to him.
Leon: "Hey Willy, you want a ride to your house? I can drop you off on my way outta town."
Jam Willy: "Nah, Leon. I 'ppreciate it, man, but I come this far I feel like a few more miles ain't gonna kill me, ya know? I wanna finish what I started."
Leon nods at Willy and goes about his business, paying his bill and hitting the road in his big rig. Willy pays up, says his goodbyes to Grampops and then hits the road himself, albeit on foot. With the sun replacing the moon and shining down from that wide-open Belfast sky, the temperature has risen some since Jam Willy was out here earlier. It ain't warm for most people, but it's warm enough for Jam Willy, a man who is cloaked in coonskin, cloaked in truth, integrity and the unlimited firepower of a badass street-fightin' man. A Belfast man, under a Belfast sky, with the symmetry of the stars aligned with him. This is the magic of Jam Willy Jesus.
Jam Willy Jesus is magic, or so they say. Right now Jam Willy is marching down a North Dakota roadway on a cold, December night. His coonskin parka and tattered jeans offer him some, though little protection against the frigid conditions. Still though, Jam Willy is resolute in the face of adversity. This ain't a road that's paved with gold or good intentions. This is a road that's paved with pain. That's Jam Willy's kind of road. Hitching is fairly pointless, seeing as there ain't much in the way of commuter traffic by which Jam Willy can hitch a ride. Thus Willy is doing the work that must be done as he treks toward his hometown of Belfast, which is nestled in the bosom of rural Americana. It is a daunting task for a simple country boy, but the man who shares his name with the Messiah is certainly up for the task, even if his shuddering flesh and the icicles dangling from his nostrils and beard tell a different story.
Jam Willy's pace, in itself, isn't what one would desire under the circumstances, though Jam Willy is the type of fella who will soldier forth until his untimely demise, and as they say... Jam Willy Jesus is magic.
Jam Willy Jesus: "Lord, awaken my shufflin' feet. Give me the strength to persevere durin' this time of adversity. I will offer you a bottle of Jack and a bag of that good weed iffin' you guide me through this."
Jam Willy flashes a hopeful wink toward the power that ranks even higher than he. This ain't the only scene that we're going to be seeing though. Within moments our perspective changes to an innard shot of a diner, at morning time, dawn to be precise, with beams of sunlight peering in through the windows, illuminating the early breakfast crowd. We see a gray-bearded hillbilly, an old man with a Yosemite Sam complex seated at the counter. No more than two seats away from him is a younger though grizzled in his own right trucker, replete with trucker hat and flannel shirt.
Gray-Bearded Hillbilly: "Did you know that in Finland, that singer chick Dido is considered strange, exotic meat?"
Grizzled Trucker: "Course I knew that. Who don't know that shit, Grampops?"
The gray-bearded hillbilly, identified as Grampops, strokes his beard a little before responding.
Grampops: "Roy Speede, that's who!"
Grampops and the trucker share a motherfucker of a laugh. They laugh like neo-cons on Fox News who are getting away with pulling the wool over America's eyes. It's not long before their fun is brought to a screeching halt by the harbinger of justice around these parts.
Jam Willy: "Hey! You don't talk 'bout Roy Speede like that!"
Grampops and the trucker feel their breakfasts sinking into the bowels of their respective trousers. They did not count upon being interrupted when they were having their good, guilty, country-boy fun.
Grampops: "Sorry, Jam Willy. I didn't even know you was here. Didn't hear your truck."
Jam Willy: "That's on account-a it's back in Readin', PA , stripped to shit. I done walked back here."
Jam Willy sits down at the counter, in between Grampops and the trucker. A piping hot pot of coffee is placed upon the counter by unseen hands. Jam Willy shakes off the chill in his bones and his soul, picks up the pot with his bare hands and guzzles the coffee down like it's chocolate milk. He places the empty coffee pot on the counter and it's taken away by those same unseen hands that put it there.
Jam Willy: "I got reason ta suspect Switches is the culprit. Hell, who am I kiddin'? I know the sunnuva bitch done did it."
Grampops shoves a cupful of blackened brew down his gullet.
Grampops: "How you figure, Willy?"
Jam Willy, with eager thoughts of bacon strips and home fries on his mind, responds to the scraggly old gent.
Jam Willy: "Who else woulda dun it? Switches is my only enemy in Dub-See-Eff. I'm one of the most popular superstars they got. Hell, I got their top-sellin' T-shirt right now."
Switches casually pulls back the sides of his coonskin coat and reveals that he's wearing the über-popular Jam Willy Jesus "I Am NOT A Nihilist!" T-shirt. Jam Willy is depicted on the shirt with his arms raised triumphantly, a jubilant sneer upon his beardly face, and wearing his beaded necklace that all the chicks dig.
Trucker: "But wasn't you and Switches brawlin' into the crowd and such? When did he have the chance to fuck with yer truck?"
Jam Willy: "A valid question, Leon. See, after Switches and I finished brawlin' on account-a them security guards finally did separate us, I went back to my locker room. I sat there stewin' and drinkin', drinkin' and stewin'. I finished off my six-pack of Jack--"
Leon the trucker's ears perk up.
Leon: "They sell Jack Daniels in a six-pack, Willy?"
Jam Willy: "Not a'zactly, Leon. I buy six bottles of Jack at once and then it becomes a six-pack of Jack."
Leon taps his noggin with the point of his index finger.
Leon: "Now that's smart. You always thinkin', Jam Willy."
Jam Willy: "Problem is, once I tapped the last bottle I had nothin' left to drink. Sure they have a Coke machine at the Arena and some beer vendors and such... but I can only drink beer with breakfast. Once I been brawlin', I need that Jack in me."
Grampops: "Tis' a soothin' elixir."
Jam Willy: "A'zactly. So I walked out to the parkin' lot to get in my truck and head over yonder to the liquor store and..."
Jam Willy's heart sinks in his chest as he regales the harrowing tale. You can tell his heart is sinking because he's got an expression on his face like a man who just ate a rancid plate of clams casino.
Jam Willy: "The horror... the horror. Henrietta's exhaust pipe had been bent skyward and shat in. The windows had been smashed to holy hell. An additional smatterin' o' feces--"
Jam Willy gestures broadly with his hand while his face turns a whiter shade of pale.
Jam Willy: "Had been deposited upon the cloth of the bench seat inside of my poor, poor baby. The steerin' wheel had been viciously disjointed from the steerin' column."
Willy's face twists and contorts, much like the steering column that he describes, as tears well in his eyes.
Jam Willy: "The engine had been disassembled from top to bottom, by someone who took their time. They knew what they was doin' and they enjoyed they work. Now either it was Switches who done it or his proxy Tommy, who had been ordered to do it under threat of death. Either way, Switches will be the one to pay."
Grampops appears devastated by Jam Willy's story, his hardened old face is now glum and dour.
Grampops: "Poor Henrietta. She was a fine truck. American-made, not like this shit they got out there now. They call 'em American but they's made in Hong Kong or Holland or one-a-dem countries. Damn Commie bastards!"
Grampops slams his fist upon the counter-top. He's calmed only by the hushed tones of a bosomy waitress. Grampops casts a creepy smile at her and she spins on her tender heel and promptly skedaddles.
Leon looks uneasy in his own right, after hearing Jam Willy's story, but he's a trucker by trade and he's seen this kind of thing before.
Leon: "Well uh... are ya gonna pay to have 'er fixed, Jam Willy?"
Jam Willy: *sigh*
Jam Willy finally receives his bacon and home fries. He didn't even have to place an order. That hottie waitress with the big tits and the three kids at home knows what to get the J-Dub, ass-kickin', guru of the good times. It's an unspoken bond.
Jam Willy: "You know I would. I loved that truck even though she was on her dyin' legs. Prollem is fuckin' Lerch pays in Planters and my name ain't Mr. Peanut."
Grampops: "I sure as shit don't see no top hat or monocle, moo-haw!"
Jam Willy: "Laugh it up, Grampops. You'll get cancer soon enough with them devil sticks you be smokin'."
Leon: "Ain't no reason to be mean, Jam Willy."
Leon slurps up some of that black-tar style coffee. Yep, that's how they drink it out here in the country.
Jam Willy: "Mean? You mean like that noise you was speakin' 'bout Roy Speede when I walked upon ya?"
Grampops: "That was a private conversation, Jam Willy."
A forkful of home fries is lifted into Jam Willy's mouth. He takes a split-second to chew upon the divine breakfast concoction before swallowing it.
Jam Willy: "Private, my ass. You're on my territory, Grampops. I will have you know somethin' right here and now: Yes, Roy Speede is oftentimes an unbearable douchebag, but at his core Speede is a good, hard-workin', industrious young man. He held his own against Odin Balfore, that there Dubya-See-Eff World Champion, and even managed to pin the Norse God. We're partners this week and I will do my damnedest to watch Roy's back and protect him from harm, iffin' supposin' he does the same for yours truly."
Grampops earnestly attempts to make amends for his anti-Speede rhetoric from earlier.
Grampops: "Well, I... we, uh..."
Leon waves off Grampops' implications.
Leon: "Don't drag me into this. That was a foot that you done did stuck into yer own mouth, Grampops."
Grampops: "Yer, well... I'm sorry, Jam Willy."
Jam Willy: "Not a prollem, Grampops. You'll buy my breakfast to make up for it."
Grampops: "You shittin' me, Willy? I'm on the Social in-Securiteh!"
Jam Willy: "Which means you clearin' more bones per month than me."
Grampops: "Fudge stickles, man... ain't my fault yer workin' for Lerch."
Grampops slams the last of his toast onto the last of his hardened egg yolk and dismisses it all with a flickering of cigarette ashes.
Jam Willy: "You also buyin' me a pack a smokes."
Grampops: "Ahh, fuck you, Willy. You ain't been nothin' but trouble since you signed with the Dub-See-Eff."
Jam Willy: "And trouble is what I intend to bring from here on out, especially as it relates to a certain clown."
Leon dunks a doughnut into his morning java and looks knowingly toward Jam Willy.
Leon: "You got Switches on the mind, Willy?"
Jam Willy suckles on a strip of bacon like it was a clitoris before addressing the rhetorical question that was addressed to him.
Jam Willy: "You know it, Leon. I'm so tired of this Switches mofo. I've never felt blood lust like this before, and I done killed a man. I want to end Switches, just like I toll Hanklin "The Hankford" Brown on Slam. I want to kill Switches and end his life, once an' for all. I will tell the both of ya right now, Henrietta's demise will not be in vain. I buried that sweet lady with my bare hands and an iron-wrought shovel in the soil next to Dub-See-Eff Arena. My anger--"
Jam Willy takes a deep, heavy breath as the rage brews inside his eyes.
Jam Willy: "My anger will not subside until it is unleashed upon Switches at Slam and again at One. My feet that were made to do all that walkin' from Readin' to Belfast? Oh, they will have a full artillery of ass-kickin' and curb-stompin' stocked up for that grease-painted son of a bitch!"
Grampops shucks more ciggy ashes onto his breakfast plate.
Grampops: "I almost... I shudder to think what's next, Jam Willy. That was some brawl you fellas had on Slam, all the way into the stands. Weapons drawn and all that shit. I could'na believe what my eyes was seein'. We all went down to Ray's Bar to watch the fights that night and it was a spectacle, man. You and Switches busted away from them security guards and just kept goin'. I was like... Whoa!"
The old man's eyes widen and his jaw drops as he relives those images from the TV screen.
Jam Willy: "Yessir, I know. It was like watchin' The Matrix for the first time, wudint it? Two opposin' forces offerin' a final resolution to a conflict that has shed endless blood and birthed endless pain. And that was just a teaser, gentlemen."
Jam Willy smirks, hiding his true feelings, as violence races in his brain. His eyes are locked in a hateful glare, as if he can see the slashed-and-stitched face of Jam Willy in front of him.
Leon nods in hearty agreement, narrowly avoiding a gruesome heart attack in front of the other patrons of the diner.
Leon: "Thas my beef with Dub-See-Eff. You two knocked each other outta the ring and kept on goin' and ya even had ya weapons drawn and shit, but them cameras barely covered it. They gave all the attention to Miles and Fly!"
Jam Willy: "I hear ya, Leon. In the heat of the moment those two put on a show, but where did Miles go when it was all said and done? He's already proclaimed himself to be... outtie, as teh kids say. Heh. So much for bein' the 'Epitome o' Cool'. Miles couldn't handle the heat of the Dub-See-Eff flame. I don't know what to make of Fly. Much has been stated about his past, but frankly I jus' don't know whether the man is comin' nor goin'. He's got a fightin' spirit, but he's also the first one to be braggin' about it, talkin' hisself up."
Grampops: "Don't go trustin' that man iffin' supposin' you don't know where his head is at, Willy!"
Jam Willy: "I hear your words, Grampops, and they are ringin' loud and clear."
Leon: "Why they got ya stuck teamin' with Speede and Fly anyway, Willy?"
Another strip of bacon finds its way down Jam Willy's gullet in a most sexual of manners.
Jam Willy: "It's an opportuniteh, Leon. Thas how I gaze upon it. Some people say that there ain't a rhyme nor reason for them clusterin' fucks that Lerch books. The way I look at it, Jam Willy's stars are all lined up for this match. When you got three men with similar goals and agendas on the same team, there's a symmetry to it all. Now you think about them other guys, they already lost Aaron Miles. All they got left is Switches and Odin Balfore's bitch Ryan Blake. My focus is on Switches, a-course, but if Blake gets in my way... he'll find hisself on the business end of a Jam Willy Jesus signature disembowelment. I ain't playin' with either-a them mufuckas."
Grampops and Leon nod their heads and don't say much more as Willy finishes up his breakfast and then hits the can. When Jam Willy returns, Leon calls out to him.
Leon: "Hey Willy, you want a ride to your house? I can drop you off on my way outta town."
Jam Willy: "Nah, Leon. I 'ppreciate it, man, but I come this far I feel like a few more miles ain't gonna kill me, ya know? I wanna finish what I started."
Leon nods at Willy and goes about his business, paying his bill and hitting the road in his big rig. Willy pays up, says his goodbyes to Grampops and then hits the road himself, albeit on foot. With the sun replacing the moon and shining down from that wide-open Belfast sky, the temperature has risen some since Jam Willy was out here earlier. It ain't warm for most people, but it's warm enough for Jam Willy, a man who is cloaked in coonskin, cloaked in truth, integrity and the unlimited firepower of a badass street-fightin' man. A Belfast man, under a Belfast sky, with the symmetry of the stars aligned with him. This is the magic of Jam Willy Jesus.
