(The only reason I'm posting this small fanfic is because soon my school is reconfigure, I'll finish it by next friday. Please do not judge this because it's obviously not done, by a long shot. Thank you!)
Tek stood on the cracked sidewalk leaning against the brick wall, covered with gang grafitti and the occasional bullet-hole, smoking a cigarette. Grimm stood to his right, sipping from a pre-war bottle of beer in his left. It was long, long stale and had been for 20 years, but beer was beer.
Grimm, a large whiteboy, was very indimidating to see on the street especially as he was well over 6 foot tall. He wasn’t as a thick as he was tall, kind of having the thuggish-tall and lanky look. Wearing baggy black pants with combat boots, and a tang-top and a raggidy pair of black, fingerless gloves. Even his hair was badass, long, black hair with a matching chin goatee. His real name was Adam but everyone he’s ever known has called him Grimm so it stuck. He was the worst-alcoholic every seen. But let it be known, every rock has a soft-spot.
Tek, a mixed-black/white kid, was very laid-back looking but still looked hard. He was medium stature, about 5’11”, with a relative good look at life. You could he was a decent man if you meet him, always generous to people less-fortunate to him, especially women and children. But still equally mean to other males, especially if one’s talking shit to Grimm or him. He’ll fight at the drop of a dime. Tek always wore a rad-looking outfit, baggy-urban camo pants with boots, an under-white shirt and a black sleeveless overshirt. His hair, like his father “Anthony”, was short but still had tiny curls.
The two friends had just gotten back from the local pub entitled from the locals “The Skum Pit”, considering that all the patrons were severe alcoholics or addicts. It was down the street up on 27th on the corner, it was in shitty condition with bulletholes and shells still visible. But thats how life in the Wasteland was; by the way, Ft. Drumm was on the edge of the Californian-desert and the dead-forest.
“Ya’ll two got any green?” a blonde white kid, who obviously the balls to come up to two drug-dealers all alone. Both respected this kids bravery.
“Get outta here, you little shit!” Tek said lowly to the kid, taking a swift drag off the loosely-packed cigarette. Before the kid turned his back completely, Tek had already changed his mind.
“How much you want, ‘jit?” Tek asked, tapping in his pockets where a sack of grass sat. He felt a bit shitty about dealing pot to a teen, but money was money. Grimm was still sipping his beer, with barely left.
“A $20 sack... You got that much?” The teen asked, pulling two tens out of his front right pocket of a pair of shitty demin jeans. He looked so soft, considering he had a soft-looking face with a poor assed outift. He looked like a pussy because he was dead scared of Grimm, never even acknowledging that Grimm was even there. Thats what scared people do. Never look your prey into his eyes, or atleast your predator.
“What? Do we have enough? C’mon kid...” Tek threw the kid a pre-wrapped baggy, the boy handed his money to Tek. Grimm looked at the dirty, cracked asphalt laughing, knowing how weak and pathetic the boy was.
Tek stood on the cracked sidewalk leaning against the brick wall, covered with gang grafitti and the occasional bullet-hole, smoking a cigarette. Grimm stood to his right, sipping from a pre-war bottle of beer in his left. It was long, long stale and had been for 20 years, but beer was beer.
Grimm, a large whiteboy, was very indimidating to see on the street especially as he was well over 6 foot tall. He wasn’t as a thick as he was tall, kind of having the thuggish-tall and lanky look. Wearing baggy black pants with combat boots, and a tang-top and a raggidy pair of black, fingerless gloves. Even his hair was badass, long, black hair with a matching chin goatee. His real name was Adam but everyone he’s ever known has called him Grimm so it stuck. He was the worst-alcoholic every seen. But let it be known, every rock has a soft-spot.
Tek, a mixed-black/white kid, was very laid-back looking but still looked hard. He was medium stature, about 5’11”, with a relative good look at life. You could he was a decent man if you meet him, always generous to people less-fortunate to him, especially women and children. But still equally mean to other males, especially if one’s talking shit to Grimm or him. He’ll fight at the drop of a dime. Tek always wore a rad-looking outfit, baggy-urban camo pants with boots, an under-white shirt and a black sleeveless overshirt. His hair, like his father “Anthony”, was short but still had tiny curls.
The two friends had just gotten back from the local pub entitled from the locals “The Skum Pit”, considering that all the patrons were severe alcoholics or addicts. It was down the street up on 27th on the corner, it was in shitty condition with bulletholes and shells still visible. But thats how life in the Wasteland was; by the way, Ft. Drumm was on the edge of the Californian-desert and the dead-forest.
“Ya’ll two got any green?” a blonde white kid, who obviously the balls to come up to two drug-dealers all alone. Both respected this kids bravery.
“Get outta here, you little shit!” Tek said lowly to the kid, taking a swift drag off the loosely-packed cigarette. Before the kid turned his back completely, Tek had already changed his mind.
“How much you want, ‘jit?” Tek asked, tapping in his pockets where a sack of grass sat. He felt a bit shitty about dealing pot to a teen, but money was money. Grimm was still sipping his beer, with barely left.
“A $20 sack... You got that much?” The teen asked, pulling two tens out of his front right pocket of a pair of shitty demin jeans. He looked so soft, considering he had a soft-looking face with a poor assed outift. He looked like a pussy because he was dead scared of Grimm, never even acknowledging that Grimm was even there. Thats what scared people do. Never look your prey into his eyes, or atleast your predator.
“What? Do we have enough? C’mon kid...” Tek threw the kid a pre-wrapped baggy, the boy handed his money to Tek. Grimm looked at the dirty, cracked asphalt laughing, knowing how weak and pathetic the boy was.