Thuggish Ruggish Bone
I hate our neighborhood. I don't understand it at all. To one side, there are lots of cute little houses with cute little families or cute little old people. We all smile and wave when we pass each other. That's all fan-f'ing-tastic, but to the other side are a bunch of ghetto apartments.
*in the ghettooooo*
We also have the drug dealer across the street, but we'll put them in the category of "cute little family" because the kid is pretty cute. And the drug dealer is perfectly nice and respectful most of the time, at least when he's not trying to get into our house at 4 a.m. because he thinks he's locked out.
Anyway, Friday night I was walking the dogs when I noticed some money blowing across the street. My first instinct was to grab it, but then I saw how much it was. I thought about leaving it there so whoever lost it could come out and find it, but I was worried it would blow away or the special kid that walks around with headphones, making weird noises, would find it or something, and the person would never get it back. Without giving it enough thought, I grabbed the money. I didn't think of the logistics of getting it back to the rightful owner.
It turned out to be a lot more than I thought. It was enough to be a full month's rent in those nasty-ass townhouses. It could have easily been someone's paycheck. Once Josh got home, after we got past how stupid it was to pick it up, we decided to go door to door. We agreed to only tell people that we found "something valuable," and that they would know it if they lost it. The tricksy whore (we'll call her Trixie) on our first stop ruined that. She kept pressing us until we told her that it was cash. She wanted to know how much, but we at least kept that to ourselves.
While we were at the next place, Trixie had called what I took to be her Baby Daddy (BD), who wanted to know if we found a hundred dollars. I just told him no. Then he wanted to know if it was fifty. I told him I wasn't going to tell him. Then he pulled out this HUGE wad of fiddies and hunnies and said that he might've lost some, but wasn't sure. Josh said something like, "Well, it looks like you're doing fine either way," which must've pissed off BD, because the mood turned sour. He kept asking us if we were absolutely sure it wasn't a hundred. I tried telling him our rationale for not disclosing the exact amount, but he didn't get it. I also explained that if we were keeping the money, we wouldn't be going door to door, trying to do the right thing. As we walked away, that asshole started talking shit about Josh, saying stuff about how the white boy could keep the money and how he didn't need it, etc. It took a lot for me to keep walking, but this dude was SO obviously a dealer and might've kicked (or capped) my ass for fun. The wad he had was easily over five thousand. He was wearing what were probably shorts, but looked an awful lot like man-pris since he had them pulled down so low. He also had what I think rappers are now calling a "grill" in his mouf.
Basically, me finding this money just about ruined our Friday night. We were all paranoid, because that f'er watched us all the way down the street. Based on the way the money I found was folded over, it could've easily been from his wad. When he pulled that thing out of his pocket, money could've fallen off. I definitely don't feel bad not giving him back his money. If you can lose that much money and not even realize it, while your girlfriend and her kids live in the crappiest townhouse this side of Wellington Heights, then you can go f yourself. The only thing that makes me feel bad is that it could be someone else's. Someone could've just cashed her paycheck and not put the money away, then when she got out, the money fell out of her lap. I guess there's no way of finding out. That f'er made me not want to knock on any more doors.
Since then, I've had two songs in my head nonstop. The first is obviously that stupid Nelly song... you know... "Smile for me Daddy," "What you lookin' at?" "Let me see your grill!" "Let you see my what?" You know, it goes on from there. It actually came on when I got in the car to get a movie right after the whole incident. I couldn't believe it. The second song is this silly Bone Thugs 'n Harmony song. I think it's called "For the Love of Money." In the extended version, the woman makes these dirty, dirty orgasm noises while the song drags on and on. Sadly, I know most of the words, but the relevant verse is one in which the protagonist, similar to the asshole thug trying to shake me and my man down, is a misunderstood drug dealer.
Standing on the corner straight slingin' rocks
Awwww, shit, here comes a motherf'in cop
So I dash, I ducks, and I hides behind a tree
Makin' sure the motherf'ers don't see me.
That? That's poetry, bitches.
*in the ghettooooo*
We also have the drug dealer across the street, but we'll put them in the category of "cute little family" because the kid is pretty cute. And the drug dealer is perfectly nice and respectful most of the time, at least when he's not trying to get into our house at 4 a.m. because he thinks he's locked out.
Anyway, Friday night I was walking the dogs when I noticed some money blowing across the street. My first instinct was to grab it, but then I saw how much it was. I thought about leaving it there so whoever lost it could come out and find it, but I was worried it would blow away or the special kid that walks around with headphones, making weird noises, would find it or something, and the person would never get it back. Without giving it enough thought, I grabbed the money. I didn't think of the logistics of getting it back to the rightful owner.
It turned out to be a lot more than I thought. It was enough to be a full month's rent in those nasty-ass townhouses. It could have easily been someone's paycheck. Once Josh got home, after we got past how stupid it was to pick it up, we decided to go door to door. We agreed to only tell people that we found "something valuable," and that they would know it if they lost it. The tricksy whore (we'll call her Trixie) on our first stop ruined that. She kept pressing us until we told her that it was cash. She wanted to know how much, but we at least kept that to ourselves.
While we were at the next place, Trixie had called what I took to be her Baby Daddy (BD), who wanted to know if we found a hundred dollars. I just told him no. Then he wanted to know if it was fifty. I told him I wasn't going to tell him. Then he pulled out this HUGE wad of fiddies and hunnies and said that he might've lost some, but wasn't sure. Josh said something like, "Well, it looks like you're doing fine either way," which must've pissed off BD, because the mood turned sour. He kept asking us if we were absolutely sure it wasn't a hundred. I tried telling him our rationale for not disclosing the exact amount, but he didn't get it. I also explained that if we were keeping the money, we wouldn't be going door to door, trying to do the right thing. As we walked away, that asshole started talking shit about Josh, saying stuff about how the white boy could keep the money and how he didn't need it, etc. It took a lot for me to keep walking, but this dude was SO obviously a dealer and might've kicked (or capped) my ass for fun. The wad he had was easily over five thousand. He was wearing what were probably shorts, but looked an awful lot like man-pris since he had them pulled down so low. He also had what I think rappers are now calling a "grill" in his mouf.
Basically, me finding this money just about ruined our Friday night. We were all paranoid, because that f'er watched us all the way down the street. Based on the way the money I found was folded over, it could've easily been from his wad. When he pulled that thing out of his pocket, money could've fallen off. I definitely don't feel bad not giving him back his money. If you can lose that much money and not even realize it, while your girlfriend and her kids live in the crappiest townhouse this side of Wellington Heights, then you can go f yourself. The only thing that makes me feel bad is that it could be someone else's. Someone could've just cashed her paycheck and not put the money away, then when she got out, the money fell out of her lap. I guess there's no way of finding out. That f'er made me not want to knock on any more doors.
Since then, I've had two songs in my head nonstop. The first is obviously that stupid Nelly song... you know... "Smile for me Daddy," "What you lookin' at?" "Let me see your grill!" "Let you see my what?" You know, it goes on from there. It actually came on when I got in the car to get a movie right after the whole incident. I couldn't believe it. The second song is this silly Bone Thugs 'n Harmony song. I think it's called "For the Love of Money." In the extended version, the woman makes these dirty, dirty orgasm noises while the song drags on and on. Sadly, I know most of the words, but the relevant verse is one in which the protagonist, similar to the asshole thug trying to shake me and my man down, is a misunderstood drug dealer.
Standing on the corner straight slingin' rocks
Awwww, shit, here comes a motherf'in cop
So I dash, I ducks, and I hides behind a tree
Makin' sure the motherf'ers don't see me.
That? That's poetry, bitches.
posted by Molly at 7:07 PM
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