|“Let it go to my head’, 90 Proof said with sarcastic disbelief, not in himself, but in this funny style man. He sucked his teeth at him in a way that men do, “We the same age fool. I’m about to smack you with the same stupid stick I got from your mama. Where she gave you that scar tissue on your head.”
“I know what I’m talking about. You and all these kids buy the thug-life lotto ticket, and someone has to win. You happen to be the guy who does. For myself I can’t change history: I can just be a part of it. That is the way the universe works. And even if you or I could. we wouldn’t know. Because the other out-come (out put for input) technically then never exists in a looping figure eight.”
The General/90 Proof/ Joseph spoke up, “you one crazy old man, why you tellin’ me all this shit, don’t you have something to get on to do?”
"Why you listening?”, he replied from a knee jerk reaction to talking; even if he didn’t care all that much.
“Cuz I have to stand out here all day and all night and I get fucking bored. Shooting your ass would not be boring, but then what other nut am I gonna get to lay down cash on the shit I sell your ass.”
“The reason I’m telling you is because you never live to find out about the future. And people there need something of yours.” The older man continued.
“What are you telling me: First I’m the original gangster in the future, then I’m not gonna live to know about it. And I suppose you’re the drive- by from the future come to take my nickel and dime ass out before I blow up.” 90 P, asked rhetorically.
“No today you live- although this would be a good chance to test that ‘I can’t change history rule. Just like I can't remember how I got this scar”.
At that the general took him too seriously and laid a plug into his bullet proof vest.
Then from across the street and several blocks down, a kid who wanted his corner saw that Joseph had drawn down on another man. He shot a plug at the man that had gotten knocked back by the general’s bullet.
And the man on the ground thought to himself a bit quicker than can be processed from theta idea into language, “The popos found our bullets in him, but he’s getting sucker punched by his own rival.”
The rival down the street couldn’t see that the bullet only went into the coat of the man on the ground. He then started firing on his intended target; figuring if he had one in the guy on the ground he could say shooting his in-group rival was an accident.
The older man (still lying on the ground) was smarting from the first shot, and he could feel his cracked rip as he took a breath. He didn’t know if other people died that today. He did know that Joseph wouldn’t. And he didn’t want Joseph to shoot him again point blank. He had been sent to befriend him.
“I can’t cuddle up to shit if I’m dead he mumbled to himself.” And he plugged one into the future general’s wash board abs.