*Kendrick Lamar voice* I do this!!!
I had been gearing up for this caper for some time without actually ever gearing up for it. I knew that I was ready to get back in the game, but the last heist didn’t pan out and the one before that involved a shady partner who ultimately felt I wasn’t a suitable partner-in-crime. ‘Fuck it,’ as I tossed back another shot of vodka, straight. ‘I guess I’ll be going this one alone.’
Bored. Searching. Browsing. Scanning. Perusing. Trying to find something that piques my interest for a fucking change and…oh. Yes, Digable Planets are very dope. I liked what she was reading, although I couldn’t tell you the first thing about it, really. I guess I’m just enamored with intellectuals, you know? Somewhat receptive to my initial “advances,” she began to warm up to them after time. When you are in the midst of planning a caper, your thoughts are on the task at hand, first and fucking foremost. You can’t allow emotions to even barely enter the fray or everything could be compromised beyond retrievability. Who the hell wants that?
After some time getting to know each other’s habits, strengths and weaknesses, it was finally go time. We had selected the method, location and target. We were going to take the world by storm and be completely unapologetic for it in the process. Neither of us cared about the conventionality of our union. Nor did we give thought to the prospect that things could flame out as easily as they were ignited. We had a job to do, and we fully intended to do it well.
Settling on a rendezvous point to get better acquainted was a great idea, especially seeing as how we hadn’t officially met yet. Wow. She’s…I mean…wow. No, I don’t like her. ‘Stick to the task at hand, Erik.’ Yes, listen to yourself. Ignore her long, flowing hair. Her lips and smile. The way she purses her lips to half-smile. Her curves…she’s sexy! Yes, she’s sexy, but there’s still a job to do, dammit.
I really want to get this shit over with. How am I supposed to concentrate on perfecting my craft when the sun’s rays personified are directly in front of me? Could she be my transmission? Ahhhhh!!!
“Let’s grab a drink at Mother Hubbard’s. I know some folks there.” She wasn’t lying, either. We walked in and immediately were greeted by everyone from the hipsterish security guard to the custodians. “Two shots of Jameson, please,” as a diminutive fellow walked in. Is that… ‘Is that…’ “Yes, that’s Nate Robinson. You’ve probably heard of him.” On TV, he looks so small…because he’s surrounded by men who are an average of about 6’5″. In real life, he looks…small. This guy is a professional basketball player, having shots of Jameson with us. What an effing life, right? Before he left, he told us in a serious tone, “Do work, guys.”
I want to touch her so bad; I want to know if she’s real or not. I can’t even begin to focus on what it is I’m supposed to do, and I’m beginning to feel resigned to inevitably mauling her. I’m not even that kind of guy, but there’s something about her. No. There’s something about us that you should know: We’re fucking dopeness. We really are. I don’t even know how I’m able to state this with such a profound conviction, but I somehow, someway know this to be the entire truth and nothing but.
We have a job to do. Still. But she’s warmed to the idea of making me her partner-in-crime beyond this venture, and I wouldn’t ever do a thing to compromise that opportunity, if presented to me. I could have sworn that we were just in our hotel room, but now we’re in an indescribable space constructed solely for the two of us. She smiles while grinding up nuggets and breaking down blunts. She loves this moment and so do I. I love the second that just passed, the second I’m enjoying now, and I will enjoy life one second into the future. For this meeting, this chance to connect with someone in the utmost unimaginable way is surreal. Hell, surreal doesn’t even serve us the most remote form of justice. This is stronger than love. This is stronger than any Danielle Steel novel or corny ass romcom could convey.
Closer to go time. She lights the bundled up flowers and inhales deeply. I long for this woman and I just met her. I long for her in every possible way. I want every single part of her; minute and or grand. I want it all. My thoughts are all over the place and I am certainly in no rush to locate them. I have located my sun, though. My transmission, or engine. What keeps me moving and once I’m moving, makes me want to move with more precision and thoughtfulness than I ever thought conceivable. You, should be jealous, regardless of gender, relationship status or sexual proclivity. An atheist, perhaps it’s time for me to count at least one blessing; Spottie.