Freaky John opened the door and blinked.  “Snake, man, you havin’ a bad hair day?”

“I’m gonna give you a fuckin’ bad nose day in a minute.”  Snake pushed past Freak and threw himself down on the couch.  “You got any weed?”

Freak closed the door and retrieved a baggie from the coffee mug on top of the television set.  “No, man, I don’t wanna be rude or anything, I’m just sayin’ nicely that your head looks like a fuckin’ Flock of Seagulls.”

“If you’re referring to my subtle use of hair product, do me a fucking favor and shut the fuck up.  Gimme that.”  Snake grabbed a book from the floor and started rolling a joint on its surface.  “Fuckin’ miserable out there, man.  I’m gonna stay here in the A.C. till it cools off.”

“Yeah, the chick on the weather channel says it’s like ninety fuckin’ degrees out, but it feels like a hundred.”  Freak slung himself across his chair with one leg dangling over the side and yawned.  “So what the fuck did you do to your hair?”

Snake sealed the joint and took a nice deep hit.  Choking a little on the return, he coughed, “Nothing.  Don’t talk about my hair.  Here.”

Freak took a toke and erupted in a coughing fit.

Snake chuckled.  “You’d think in this humidity, the weed’d stay moist, right?”  He took another hit and leaned back on the couch.

“What, you mean like your hair?  Serious, man, what the fuck did you—”

“I said, leave my hair out of it.”  Snake tossed the offending locks back over his shoulder.  “See the Mets game last night?”

Freak giggled.  “You’re fuckin’ embarrassed.”

“I am not the fuck embarrassed.”

“You’re getting’ all embarrassed over it like a teenage girl!”

“Will you shut the fuck up?”

Freak couldn’t stop laughing.  “I think my niece left her barrettes over here the other day, you wanna borrow them?”

Snake stood up and went to the refrigerator.  “I’m having a beer.  You want one?”

“They’re my fuckin’ beers, man.  Yeah, I’ll have one.”  After chilling with a Budweiser for a minute, Freak started laughing again.  “Sorry, dude, I can’t help it.  Your fuckin’ hair…”

Snake set his jaw.  “Will you shut the fuck up about my hair?”

“But it looks like a big yellow bird just landed on your—”

Snake’s beer was suddenly streaming down the sides of Freak’s head.  “You wanna know what happened to my hair, dude?  I tried a fucking beer shampoo.”  Snake set the empty bottle down on the coffee table and worked the beer into Freak’s hair with his fingers.  “Like that.  Ya happy?”

Freak sat quietly for a moment.  “Yeah.”

“Fuckin’ retard.”  Snake patted his stomach.  “So.  Got any more weed?”

Copyright 2005 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved. Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.