"YOU OWE ME THAT MONEY MOTHER FUCKER, AND YOU AINT WALKING OUTTA HERE WITHOUT SOME KIND OF COMPENSATION, DO YOU FUCKIN UNDERSTAND????"
(If you haven't read part 1, check this out: https://steemit.com/writing/@asyntactic/the-polish-prince)
I jolt up. A commotion, like a brawl, IS happening right outside.
CRACK and a loud yelp as someone is slammed against the door to my room.
There is loud shouting in a language I don't recognize mixed with what sounds like two rhinos rampaging through an antique shop.
Then I hear the distinct sound of a body getting dropped to the ground
THUD
punch CRACK punch CRACK punch CRACK*
Someones head is getting smashed into the hard wood floor, right beyond my room.
Then it's quiet but for a moment. Two people are now breathing heavily, with whimpers interspersed between some of the breaths.
I decide to open the door.
In the dimly lit living room I can see A, with both of his knees on the shoulders of some poor bloke who is crying, bleeding profusely out of his nose and mouth with tears streaming from his eyes. A has one hand clenched, holding the chest portion of his shirt, the other raised closed fist above his face.
A looks over at me, smiles, drops his hold of the guy and pocket checks him. Pulls out a bunch of small bags, some receipts, a metro card and his wallet.
"It's time for you to leave. We are done here. If I see you on the Island again without my money, it's going to be worse."
The guy on the floor deeply exhales, moans, writhes around a bit, slowly recovers his wits and then gets up, both hands clutching his face. He makes his way out of the house, blood trailing behind him.
"Hey man, let's go get dinner" A says to me as he pulls money out of his newly acquired wallet, with a big shit eating grin on his face.
" Uhm, no thanks dude, I need to sleep." I reply with a tired, slightly alarmed gesture of my hands.
He half nods and gives me a sulky look, then exits the apartment.
I hear something to the left, and note that his mother is peaking through her door way in the same bra and panties. She sees me looking and gently shuts the door.
I head back to bed, slightly confused, slightly bewildered........
The king sized bed is great. I end up getting the best sleep I've had in a while. Spent the last month sleeping on my friend Xanders floor and then a couple of days crashing in Central park. This beats those, despite what was panning out to be a pretty chaotic environment.
Speaking of which...
click clack click clack
I awake to my bed shaking, violently. I slowly open my eyes to see A's hulking figure, dressed to the nines in a dark blue business suit standing above me, kicking the side of the bed as he did so.
"It's time to get up dude! I am going to make you a member of the student council, get you up to speed with what I'm into, and we can get breakfast," he states in a frenetic manner, as he continues to kick my bed with his fancy dress shoes.
Glancing over at the computer desk I see that the clock reads just past 6:30 AM. groan
"No way dude, I'm going to sleep in."
His shoulders go stiff, he stops kicking the bed, and he gives me a disappointed look. "Well, alright, suit yourself...."
A backs up out of the tiny room, gracefully, and quietly. Softly shutting the door as he sheepishly absconds from the tiny room.
click clack click clack
The front door gently opens with a creak, and then a slam as it is shut again.
Eyes shut. I go back to sleep.
The school day passes, it's approximately 3-4, I'm hanging out in the smoking area of Hunter convening with the homies.
The sun is out, the bright yellow colored cabs are honking, the pigeons are pecking, the smell of street hot dogs and honey glazed hot nuts intertwine with the soft breeze that is rolling through the city, making the trees rustle in the most pleasant manner. It's another glorious day in the city.
The smokers spot is a big semi courtyard in front of the school. A big concrete block protrudes from the ground at perfect sitting height, and meets the glass windows of the lobby of the school.
Zack Haigh is sitting on the concrete block, smoking a cig, clad in rasta colored clothing with his back to the window, conversing with me about the flavor of our rolled smokes while I'm enjoying the feeling of the sun hitting my back.
From behind me I hear:
click clack click clack
Coldness, as the feeling of the sun ceases and is replaced with the feeling of the creeps. There is a tap on my shoulder, Zach looks up, and I can see very clearly in the reflection of the window behind him A's gigantic silhouette blocking out the sun and enveloping the frame of my body.
I swivel around, "What's up A?"
A and I shake hands, again with his vice like grip holding my hand, he locks eyes with me.
He looks at Zack and I with a big grin on his face and says "Let's go to Roosevelt and get blazed out of our minds!"
Zack's eyebrows perch up. He gets up quick and invites another one of our mutual homies, Will. We all follow him to the F train.
A gigantic blunt packed with what people are saying is "the dankest shit in NYC" is getting passed around the tiny room as we all sit on the bed "made for a prince." Everyone is laughing hysterically.
One of A's friends who had joined us on the walk from the train to his house, a stunning Israeli woman, "Shar," with long dark curly hair is busting up laughing as A talks about cats being the best house pets.
As all this is going on I note that Will, with every hit of the blunt, looks more and more like he is about to pass out.
It is now roughly 7 oclock in the evening. The sun has set, everyone is properly blazed, Will has passed out on the bed, and A and I are very hungry.
We all roll on over to the F train, leaving Will behind to sleep it off.
It's Just A and I now. His eyes are as red as the devils dick and he's got that goofy, more than slightly cantankerous grin on his face. We reach Manhattan and get off the train, go through the giant labyrinthine maze of escalators and busy walkways that is the 63rd street F station. I'm so stoned I can barely navigate. A guides the way.
We get to the street, A says "Follow me, I know a spot."
As we are walking to his spot, A seems very happy, blazed, and excited to be going on a night stroll for food and adventure. He points at some old busts and starts talking excitedly about how is relatives and ancestors have statues all over New York. "Polish royalty has it's fingers in all of NYC's affairs," he states with a smile.
Suddenly his demeanor changes. In an almost mechanical fashion his face shifts from a grin to glower. His back and shoulders square up to the point wear it looks like his fancy suit is going to tear under the stress of his now bulging, angry muscles
A is now walking insanely fast in the direction of a couple walking to the right of us. He barrels towards the man, while screaming:
"YOU SEE THAT AARON? YOU SEE HOW THAT GUY HAS THE WOMAN WALKING ON THE STREET SIDE INSTEAD OF THE SIDEWALK! IN MY COUNTRY THAT'S HOW YOU TREAT WHORES AND PROSTITUTES. LET'S TEACH THIS MOTHERFUCKER HOW TO RESPECT WOMEN PROPERLY!"
A shoulder checks the man.
(To be continued)