For Just That Much

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Has a bum on the verge of brain damage from hunger ever asked you for a cigarette? Has he ever asked you a second time? And A third? And.... ... Eventually you end up wanting to murder them the next time they wanna ask for a stick? Yeah, I'm sure were all sociopaths :> This is a story about a college student, a bum, cigarettes, energy drinks, road safety, a lack of sleep and a spine. Author's Note: I was hired a long time ago back in college to write someone a story for one of their classes, he paid me a dollar, This is it.

Humor / Drama
Age Rating:

Seriously! For Just That Much?

Somewhere in a place called Zapote, there is this guy who often passes by the highway of this place, the highway heading to another place called Laspinas, although he only rarely goes to Laspinas. This guy usually passes there because in the main market of this Zapote, he buys random items, items we will never know. All that we know is that he believes the items and miscellaneous goods he obtains there is cheap, and he is a cheap kind of guy, being cheap, he also likes Zapote because he claims it to be walking distance from where he studies college. This guy is called Singko, -or at least that’s what he thinks-, which means five in his local lingo, the reason for this is because five was the number of the cell he was kept in (Oh wait, that’s a different story? Sorry V). Anyway, somewhere in Kalinisan an area within Zapote, there is this computer shop, or internet café where we may usually find him logged in at. He likes that place not only because he believes its cheap, but also because it’s air-conditioned –well, at least semi-air-conditioned- and cause the guy tending the shop is a nice guy, though most of all because the place is tight and cramped, and Singko loves it tight, also he is quite amused with the cats in the net café. For some reason, the guy keeps five cats with him in the shop. Letting them wander around. Of course Singko would be amused, he likes tight, he likes pussies, no math needed.

Although the story is that one day during a certain lunch break, while Singko was walking from Santo Dominiko University to Zapote, Kalinisan. This hobo suddenly comes up to him and specifically asks for a cigarette, to our protagonist, this was a surprise of sorts, because traditionally in his country, street people beg for alms or food, not cigarettes. The hobo wore no top, he was skinny, though not too skinny, they probably would have fared equally in a fist fight. But Singko being diplomatically inclined just looked this man over before handing him a stick of Maitee –Maitee is a cheap brand of cigarette in his country, Mablorro being the best of the ‘red’ category- Yes, Singko is cheap, and at this point we also know that he is a pathetic piece of excreta.

For several days following his first encounter with the hobo in shorts, who he dubbed Buraot. Which roughly means an irritation of sorts in his local lingo, this had become a recurring issue. Buraot almost seemed to become too comfortable with asking Singko for cigarettes, it almost seemed as if Signko was obliged to provide this man with the cigarettes he needed. Spineless bastard this cheap Singko was. Although one day. “Dude, can I have that?” Buraot was referring to the energy drink Singko had in his hand. -Viper energy drink- “Dude? How about no?” Buraot just smiled like he thought he was about to pull off something funny but failed. At first glance Singko seemed indifferent, however deep inside him, something ugly was brewing. Singko was thinking of a way on how to make Buraot disappear...

Another several days later, in front of the same internet café at the same old Zapote, Kalinisan, Singko had waited for his prey. Several sleepless nights had he spent for the coming of this day. This would be clean, no one would know anything. Singko was exhaling smoke, when Buraot came into his sights, their eyes met and Singko almost felt sorry for Buraot, but then he understood he was doing the world a favour. “Dude, smoke?” “Sure thing man” Singko pulled out the poison filled cigarette. This was it. SIngko was on the verge of hyper-ventilation, there was sweat on his hands. “Here.” Singko calmed down, handed the rigged Mablorro stick to Buraot. Everything was going smoothly, Singko lit the stick for Buraot, nothing was going wrong until...

Holy hell, the damned cigarette combusted and blew up on the hobo’s face. There was a moment of shock for both sides, quick-witted Singko was all like ” Man, what the hell happened!?” Buraot had some of his hair in smoke, his lashes were burned, his lips were charred, even Singko’s hands had minor burns. Buraot’s face contorted into a rage after realizing the obvious, he hit Singko square in the face, Singko staggered, fought back in desperation and fear, as he tried to get away. This was obviously not how he had planned for things to happen. Bystanders did not attempt to stop the fight, they too were quite shocked of the cigarette exploding, and besides they probably enjoyed the action too anyway. It was fierce, Buraot was growling, Singko was shrieking. They suddenly happened to roll in the middle of the road, and in the confusion a jeep hit Buraot while he was mounted on Singko trying to choke him to death. The impact knocked the hobo dead, on the other hand, Singko was under the jeep, barely processing all that was happening. Singko, in all his panic, ran away, to who knows where. He found a corner somewhere at the Zapote-Laspinas border, he caught his breath with a cigarette.

It was afternoon now, damn, he was thinking about the classes he missed, although, more about the time he could have spent in the net-café, he knew it was over, the cops were going to get him eventually. ‘How did it end up this way?’ He thought, though in the end he knew it was over, our cheap protagonist was going to get arrested for the frustrated-murder-homicide charge of a homeless man. He simply enjoyed the failing sunlight that afternoon by an obscure Laspinas corner, and smoked his cigarette away.

Suddenly, he choked, and felt his respiratory system numb. He wanted to laugh, because he thought it was so funny that the correct poisoned cigarette was smoked by himself. He thought he really should have just slept all those nights... The one he gave the late Buraot was an extra –which failed miserably at that-. Singko silently laughed in-between coughs, covered in the blood and dust from his earlier brawl, still in his Santo Dominiko uniform. He stopped breathing in that corner by the time the sun went down. He had a sarcastic smile on his face. What a cheap kind of end for a cheap kind of guy.

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