- Excerpt from Chapter 2 -
Dont care whut nobody says... aint nothin whutll flare yo nostrilsn squoonch up yo butt like stealin. Specially yo first stealin.
Got myself a fist fulla change, my collar up, my ducktail combed perfect, skinny suede belt buckled on the side, dungaree cuffs rolled up inna tight peg, ID bracelet on my wrist, crucifix round my neck, hawkbill knife in my back pocket. Just finished hammerin four Co-Cola caps into the leather bottoms of my size-3 Apache moc loafers. Headin down to the Pavilion arcade to take a shot at scorin me one of those silver skullrings or maybe a carved coconut head. Soons my feet hit the concrete boardwalk, I get to showin off, dartin in and out corndog-eatin tourists, boogie-walkin, draggin my bottle-cap heels, slingin sparks. I scrape past the skeeball machines, flip a crisp salute to some pasty-head soldiers lined up at the rifle booth, sashay through Massres beachball shop to try on the red and blue sailor hats just in from Taiwan. Hey boy you wanna buy somethin? Jus lookin. Then looka somewhere else. Flip the clerk a quick fingerwave, scoot tween the aisles back out to the boardwalk, slap the backs of four stools of sunburned lintheads gnawin mustardy footlongs at Ocean Front Grill, wave at Mouse in the change booth thumbin out a dollar worth of quarters, tapdance by the Bat-a-Way, whistle at three giggly girls crammed into the photo booth, make a ratface at a serious lady gettin her silhouette snipped, wave at Noodles dippin candy apples, swipe a fingerful of cotton candy from the display, then boogiewalk over to the jitterbugging area. I run my hand all round the warm Rock-Ola, check the coin return, snatch a quick peek at the scratchy red 45 playin...
MY STOVES IN GOOD CONDITION
by Lil Johnson.
I spin off the jukebox, slam on brakes right in front of zoot-suited Whitey Stevens cleanin his fingernails with his pearl-handle stiletto. Give Whitey a quick respectful nod, hop over a sunburned fat lady drip-dryin on a wooden bench in her bathhouse rental bathing suit. Reeks of Noxzema, carved coconut head under her arm. Shes double-wrapped like a mutant corn dog in a big Coppertone towel. I Bojangle some sparks off her dangly feet. Get her jabbin her finger my direction, hollerin Im bout to set her sandy, flat feet on fire...