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Chapter 7 By Punkerslut
Spike stands at the door to the squat, all of them cold and huddled in the warmth of their own clothes. SPIKE: Oi! Tiff, let us in! Tiff opens the door. TIFF: Come on, quickly get in, before any one sees. The camera is outside watching. They all scurry inside and she closes the door. Then Freak comes (who missed her opening the door) and starts banging on the door. The door opens and she jumps inside. The camera then is in the room where they sleep, and it watches as Spike opens the door and collapses on the ground, tired and drunk. The camera then goes to each person in the room and shows them and their activities, before fading out to the next day. It shows Freak, as she marvels at the dried blood on her hands, intrigued, scared, amazed, not sure exactly what she thinks, but she is interested in it. Then it shows Spike and Lily making out. After that it shows Kevin drinking the bottle of wine that they ripped off from the houses. The camera shows him take one shwill, and then look at the bottle, shake it, and throw it, pick up the other, open it, and start drinking it; but then it starts foam and it goes everywhere out of his mouth, and he holds the bottle away. Then the camera moves to Gunner, who is holding a bottle of hard liquor and passed out on the ground. Then it shows a hand with blood dried on it, putting a blanket over him, and gently taking the bottle from his hand. Looking at Gunner underneath the blanket, passed out, the camera fades to white. Then it focuses on the sidewalk, around the park, with Gunner walking around, handing to homeless people food. GUNNER: Here, take this, it'll help you out. Gunner hands a loaf of bread to two home bums on the sidewalk. Tank comes walking up. TANK: Hey, can you fucking believe it? I asked a guy for a cigarette, and he crosses the street. I ask another guy for a cigarette, and he did the same fucking thing. GUNNER: Here, man. Have a brick of cheese. TANK: Nah, I don't need food. GUNNER: Sure you do. We all do. Now take it. TANK: If anyone else shoved their cheese in my face, I would grind their face down. GUNNER: I know it, brother. Tank takes the cheese and immediately consumes it. TANK: I'm gonna spange. I'll catch you later. GUNNER: See you, bro'. Gunner keeps walking, handing out chips and other food items. He runs into his gang. Lily has her arms wrapped around Spike. KEVIN: Oi oi, street punk! FREAK: Fuckin' oi, you cunt. SPIKE: How goes, Gunner? GUNNER: Doing all right. Yourself? SPIKE: Wait... Straight walking, non-slurred speech... are you sober? KEVIN: Quick; try to walk a straight line so we can see if you really are sober. GUNNER: Well, it is around eleven AM. I should be drunk.... What the fuck are you guys up to? LILY: We're headed to this land lord's place. He said he'll pay us each ten dollars each if we clean out two apartments that some tenants trashed. KEVIN: And we really are going to clean it. GUNNER: Yeah, that's the way it always is. You get honest work, you think you're going to do it, you get half way through it, and then threaten your boss if he doesn't pay you not to break his neck. SPIKE: Hey, shut up That only happened twice. FREAK: Besides, we get to keep anything we want there that we find... I'm hoping to find maybe some candles for the squat. GUNNER: Wow, Freak. I didn't know you were responsible. KEVIN: Psshhh... You think she's actually going to do it? GUNNER: It's the thought that counts. FREAK: Maybe I can find some nice clothes. GUNNER: I'm sure this will be quite an adventure. Well, I'll see you guys later. Remember, have a few drinks for me. SPIKE: How'd you know we were going to spend that money on alcohol? KEVIN: Ooohhh, he must be psychic... FREAK: Gunner, you know, I have something to tell you, and I think that when I tell you it, you won't like me any more... Every time I fucked you, when I came, I thought of fucking a headless body. GUNNER: Aaawww... I think about our honey moon all the time, too. Now you punks head along. KEVIN: Oi oi, punk! The gang heads off while Gunner goes back to his route of handing out food to homeless people. He runs into a 13 year old street kid. SWEEP: Hey, Gunner... Give me a hug, man. Gunner hugs the kid, picks him up, and lets him down. GUNNER: And how the fuck are you doing? SWEEP: I'm all right. Jacky got arrested again. GUNNER: Aaawww, I'm sorry, bro. What the fuck for? SWEEP: Criminal Trespassing. She was seen by the fucking Neighborhood Hood Watch club going into a squat while I went to get a jug of water from the fountain. When I got back, there were police cruisers outside the squat. Fucking assholes. GUNNER: You need some help getting drunk? SWEEP: I already am. But anything helps. GUNNER: Take this, homeboy. Gunner hands a pint of vodka to Sweep from the inside of his trench coat. SWEEP: Thanks... I appreciate it. Times like this are hard on everyone who has to go through them. I miss her so much. I can only hope that she's getting drunk on Pruno. GUNNER: Yeah, you wonder why they give us a shitload of prunes and trash bags. It's like... Does the warden want us to make our own alcohol? SWEEP: That shit is hard on the stomach, though. GUNNER: I hear that. SWEEP: I kind of wonder... Is she thinking about me? Does she miss me? It's like, a hole in my soul. And I think about it all the time. GUNNER: Ah, don't let it get to ya', punk. You're still going through puberty. SWEEP (laughing and punching Gunner in the arm): Shut the fuck up. GUNNER: I'll fucking see you around, gutter punk. And try not to think about her too much. I'm sure she loves you. SWEEP: K, later, droog. GUNNER: Fuzzy little werblers, mate. Sweep heads off and Gunner keeps walking. GUNNER, VOICE OVER: We're the richest nation on the world, and still we can't afford to give housing and food to our children. It's hypocrisy and it pisses me off. Sweep gets his name because he's so young and use to have a job as a dishboy when he was 12, and homeless. First he was called "chimney sweep," but then it got shortened. Kids like him shouldn't be drunk and fucking all the time, struggling to make it by. And fuck... I can imagine one day waking up in a squat, any fucking squat in this fucking great American nation, and smelling that fucking rancid odor, that specific fucking disgusting odor. I'll lift up some newspapers and find the kid dead. Whatever the fucking cause. Starvation, dehydration, probably fucking alcohol overdose more likely. And it will piss me off. I'll see his dead body, and I'll be fucking pissed. I'll go out, find the closest yuppy, and bash his fucking face in, after screaming at him, "Why the fuck do you work for the corporations that oppose Democracy!?" Fuck... I hate this world.
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