Mr.Answer Guy

“Anthony! You bag them groceries?”

Screw it. Why was the old man always buggin’ me? It’s not like I was the only guy working here. I mean, Billy and Rich were just as capable as me, right? But no…I was always on call while they sat on their asses in the break room.

“Yeah, I got em,” I called, swallowing my frustration. This job sucked, but I needed it. I mean, I was 19 and still livin’ with my mom. I had to move out sometime. Well, to move out I needed money. And to get money, you get a job. Plus there wasn’t much Ma could do for herself on account of her age, so that’s where I came in.

“Do it for your Ma, Tony,” that little voice that makes all the good crap happen said to me. Then the kickass bad side yelled “flip em’ off! Punch the mutha”—then the voices in my head got in a fight.

That’s never a good sign.

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the two paper bags full of groceries and headed off after the old lady who’d bought them, resolving to get a better job sometime.

“Ay, Tony, you wanna hold some these for me?” Kenny, the friendly drug dealer on west 7th said, jumping on me as soon as I walked down his street towards my apartment after work. “I think the cops got a tip off. Bout’ to get searched.”

I gave a serious shake of my head and waved him away. “Nah man, remember last time? Not today.”

He saw my set face, and continued to beg. “C’mon man, just for like an hour.” I shook him off, finally, and continued on my way. No drugs today.

There was a police car outside my apartment. That wasn’t exactly unusual. Shit went down here so often, the cops knew us all by name. I didn’t think any of the guys would mess with Mama though. Everyone pretty much liked her. They saw her as the wizened old woman and would go to her for advice a lot of times.

“Mama Les,” they’d say (they always called her Mama Les; she got a kick out of it) “what should I do about my girlfriend Rosie?”

“Well, kiddo,” she’d say in her rapsy voice while taking a drag on a cigarette (always claimed cigarettes would never kill her. She was too tough, she said.) “you better take care of that meth problem first.”

She was practically an Honorary Dude. So that’s why I never expected the police to be there on account of my ma. I was wrong.

I took the stairs three at a time. All my friends lived on five floor walk up apartments, but mine was BY FAR the shittest. You never knew if the stairs would disengrate as you cautiously stepped on them. I sure wish they’d just crumble one day—I could sue the no good landlord for all he was worth (probably about $7.52 and a half a bottle of vodka).

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