Due to an influx of requests, Snake and Freaky John have made a return. – Amy
“Hey, Freak, I won’t be hanging with you tomorrow night,” Snake declared.
“Oh, you got a life now? Fuckin’ unbelievable,” Freaky John noted.
“No, my sister got me a job at that gallery where she works. They got some famous painting coming there, so they want some extra security. You got any more shit there, man?”
The Freakster passed the baggie over. “What’s the painting, dude? Does it got any naked chicks in it?”
“I think it’s the Mona Lisa. Some famous chick, anyway.”
Freaky John scrunched his brows, trying to remember what the Mona Lisa looked like. He didn’t know fuck about art. His mind settled vaguely on a picture of clocks dripping off a tree branch. “Oh, yeah. I know that one.”
Snake finished rolling the bud and took a deep hit. Coughing, he explained, “You know, the guy who painted that cut off his ear.”
“Un-fucking-believable. How do you know all this shit, man?”
Snake looked offended. “You saying I’m stupid?”
“No,” Freaky John protested, “I’m just…”
Indignant, Snake looked down his nose at the Freakster. “You changed since you started law school.”
“No, man! I don’t even understand what the fuck they’re talking about in there. I’m just saying I’m…” He smacked himself in the forehead, jarring the right word into his brain. “Impressed.”
Snake tossed his hair back. “Well, thank you. As it happens, I know a lot about art.”
“Word.” Freaky John grabbed the joint and took a couple much-needed puffs.
“For instance. The artist who painted this painting that I’m being trusted to guard tomorrow night is sick.”
“With what?”
Snake cocked an eyebrow. “The evidence isn’t clear, but… I think he has tuberculosis.”
“Really? Fuck. How do you know that?”
Snake nodded. “Because my sister told me that the artist is Flemish.”
“Get. The fuck. Out of here. That is fuckin’ unbelievable, man.”
“God’s honest truth.”
“He’s gonna die or something!”
“Well, you know, he’s famous. The doctors are probably doing all they can.”
Freaky John patted Snake’s shoulder. “You tell him from me that I hope he gets better soon.”
“Done.” Snake looked at the empty baggie. “Are you hungry?”
Copyright 2004 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved. Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.