|| Sew-lickers from Kid Street ||

I felt like writing!

I took the boys from FFF STREET MAGIC, and I made them kiss.

Warning: violence.

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“If there ever was a time to be utterly outrageous, it would be now, Vlad. The systems are broken and the kids are rotting in the gutter.” Claude threw his empty beer bottle in the dried up pool.

But before it hit the concrete bottom, or the little puddle og poinous water, I’d grabbed his collar and smashed him into a burning Molotov kiss.

He stiffened.

Freezing to complete immobility. It was like I had slammed my face to a brick wall.

Then he relaxed. Just a bit.

Claude parted his lips on mine, leaned in, and kissed back.

The laugh that came behind us, sliced through the air like an arrow, and hit me right between my shoulder blades before I had had the chance to melt.

“Look at those trashy sew-lickers from Kid Street making out! Does he taste like a fucking lemon, Oi Birdy!?”

I broke the kiss and glared over my shoulder.

There was a snort and a spit, and then the random prick who’d spoken through his cigarette laughed again. Meaner.

And he wasn’t alone. Four fucking picks. One of them was Volt. He just looked uncomfortable. Hands in pockets, pale, avoiding my eyes.

“Oooh! It’s a fucking puff fest!! Hah! Look at that!!” He gestured his cigarette to me. “Then they don’t only lick South sew! Fucking disgusting!!” His ugly face was one I would love to break.

My hand slowly reached for the small knife i had tugged into my back pocket. But I didn’t get to draw.

Claude pushed past me, bumping my shoulder with his.

For a second I was scared. Actually bone-cold-terrified, that he was about to join their ranks and beat the shit out of me.

Then I saw his fist. Gleaming at the knuckles, as Claude had drawn his own little classic. He called it ‘Red Kisser’ and I could see why.

Loud Prick’s nose was instantly pulverized by the brass knuckles.

A red squirt trailed him in an arch through the air as Loud Prick went down.

He screamed and the other guys took a step back. Like almost tame city pigeons, just skipping out of danger, before considering taking flight.

Loud Prick was on his back, gripping his leaky indentation of a nose. Claude stomped on his face and that horrible crack from a jaw or maybe a cheekbone, sprung the air.

The crew just watched. Maybe they weren’t ready for violence like Claude was. Maybe they didn’t like Loud Prick that much.

Or maybe, maybe, they were afraid of those explosives they’d detonated and they didn’t want to get incinerated by the blast.

More screaming. More stomping.

I should have said something. Claude was killing the guy. But I didn’t feel like it.

Instead I picked up the bud that Loud Prick has dropped when his face had been hurled back by ‘Red Kisser’.

I took a drag.

Long and slow, and then smiled to the little pigeons with smoke seeping out from between my teeth.

The system is broken.

The kids are rotting in the gutter.

And I couldn’t be fucking bothered to care.