Chapter six


Ok, so me and Dope Chuck were at the bowling alley right?!

The eagles are blaring on the jukebox where sister Mary's wayward niece is shaking her crooked rump right before the next record plays and it's some funky reakwon the chef only Cuban links and boom Dope Chuck hits a seven ten like it stole his favorite grandmas cannoli.

The whole joint smells like my ass on a good day and the lanes are extra greased, on my third mug o molsons after 28 shots of the vod. 13 shots of the ka. I light a funky cigarette I found behind that sleepy male prostitute resting nearby the beautifully graffitied city dumpster.

I'm talking...