a short little thing i wrote to get myself to write something. so there's little to no background, and little chance of anything further. it's just a one-off of the cute variety. hope you guys enjoy!

thursday, 24 april, 2014. 1050pm.


Yeah, man.


I totally love the sound of my chains, the zippers and buttons and pins. Whenever I hear the sound of it all I can't help it, I strut like a boss and I feel like a boss even as I laugh at myself for doing it. Can't help it though; I'm hooked. My jeans are ripped, my boots heavy, my vest so full of patches and pins you can barely see the black denim it used to be.

I've got style, okay?

People get out of my way when they see me walking their way, grown-ass adults stare with varying degrees of wariness and anger and contempt. Sometimes, there's jealousy there too, and man, the high I get from that…I can't even describe. You just have to know what I mean to get it.

Even though I'm strutting my styley-ass way through the food court of the mall, I absently pull the cigarette I keep behind my ear and put it in the corner of my mouth, only half-noticing the disapproving looks the move gets me. Shit, though, it's not like I light it.

I just have an oral fixation.

And anyway, I only have eyes for the security guard whose eyeing me like he always does, a mixture of exasperation and tolerance on his face as he crosses his arms with a faint glare. Like he wishes he could do more than lip warnings at me for being a 'public menace'. Me too, guy, because their policy of stern looks and no-hands-on approach to keeping troublemakers like me in line is for the dogs.

Where's the fun, man? Where's the fun.

I waited until just close enough for him to understand and just far enough he'd have to run to catch me before lowering the skateboard in my hand to the ground, his mouth already opening to call me out right good as I stepped on and pushed off, my grin full of 'Fare thee well, muthafucka', as I quickly powered away from the guy.

People gave startled shouts as I wove between them doing mach eighty-nine and I chuckled, placing that cigarette back behind my ear before I do something fuckerhead like inhale the damn thing. I saw two mall cops on their Smeg-mobiles gunning for me up ahead and quickly popped my hips to the left, jumping shallow stairs and using the railing to swing myself around to the opposite direction.

Can't believe that guy narc'ed on me!

Well, yeah, I can, because he always does. One of these days, though, he's gonna figure out it don't work for shit. I live for busting his balls.

Another dial-a-cop came at me on his pooter-scooter and I snapped my board up into my hand and took the escalator, hopping and weaseling through people until I hit the bottom and shot off on my board again. These fuckers kill me, seriously.

I had a pretty good run this time before they finally cornered me between a Lane Bryant and some videogame place, a skinny runt of a guy being the one to threaten to tase me if I didn't hand over my board 'right this very second, ass-face'.

I let him take it, and let some beefed up lunkhead slap those fakey cuffs on me-you know, the zip-tie cuffs? Those things. They dragged me off to their security headquarters, a room with computer screens showing all the cameras they got around this place. …A lot more than you'd think and not quite where you might expect 'em, if you get my meaning.

My security guy was already there waiting, like he always is, his tone unamused though I can always see different in his eyes; "Have you nothing better to do than make us chase you down all the time?"

"Hey, Chuck. How's it hangin', man?"

He shook his head at my friendly greeting, the skinny runt from before prodding me in the back to 'shuddup'. It's always the small ones, ya know? They only ever take advantage when I'm all trussed up turkey-like and benign.

"Beyes? Don't you have a post to get back to?"

Skinny kid got sulky, whistling air out between his teeth and sneaking in another prod that they all let him get away with before he left the room and head back out into the mall. The other guards did too, until it was just me and ol' Chuck; they know the drill by now. I get pulled in, smacked on the wrist, and then told to hightail it for the day.

True to the pattern, he dispassionately broke the ties around my wrists and handed me back my board, voice stern as he told me how many regulations the thing violated when it was beneath my feet and not in my hands.

Yeah yeah, I've heard the spiel before.

"We done, man?"

"Whatever. Just don't let me see you on that thing again."

I spared him my best grin; it's one I've practiced in the mirror 'til my sister hit me with her curling iron for hogging the bathroom when she had to pee.

"Don't lie, Chuck. You like busting my balls. Your life would be uber boring without me, man."

"I like boring. …Get outta here."

I stared at him a moment, gauging his sincerity and only able to guess it was maybe for real.

"Hey, man. Hey, Chuck. Make you a deal: give me yer number, and I'll let you be boring for the rest of yer life."

His eyes narrowed and I grinned like it weren't nothin' but a joke.

"Okay! I get it! Ciao, mofo!"

I sauntered out of the office and down the plain hallway, busting through the doors leading back to the mall proper like I was a mutherfuckin' kingpin owning the damn place. It's how I roll, man.

Except, maybe I'm walking tall but inside I feel like I'm two inches tall again.

I don't know what else I can do, you know? I've done the whole ninety-third list of 'How to Get the Guy of my Dreams to Notice Me'. I mean, I know he likes me cocky, because in the beginning? Before I knew he was my guy to end all other guys, I was only a tenth as sass-assed around him and it always had him looking at me like he couldn't tell if he wanted to deck me or kiss me or what.

Maybe I was wrong? But I don't think so.

Damn, my mood was suddenly so low even the jangling of my chains couldn't keep me feelin' like top shit. Not giving a fuck anymore, I got on my board and coasted through the mall, flipping off the guards I saw on the way and noting they didn't do more than glare boo at me.

Maybe it's time I just give up, man. Seriously.

"Vincent! Get over here man and show these chicks your moves!"

I rolled my eyes; "Man, yer stupid as fuck. Carly's moves are five times better'n mine. Get her to show you her moves."

The girl who'd been halfway to offended at the initial call for showmanship now nodded my way, flashing me a friendly bird that just made me grin.

But man, I need better friends than the brain dead guys I hang with at the skate park. Or, maybe people with more than two brain cells to know where their dick goes need to start hanging 'round this dump.

Either way, I'm surrounded by idiots.

I wandered off to board within the biggest pit, lazily bypassing the other skaters and their jumps and tricks and skinned knees from falling. Not that my knees aren't just as twisted, because I've bit it plenty, mind, I just weren't in the mood to do more of the same right that very moment. Not when I was just skating to get my mind off the guy of all guys who didn't want nothin' to do with some faggot-ass punk like me.

And like I do with every guy who fails to catch my charms when I'm lobbing them at his mutherfuckin' head, I used pain to get him out of my system. A new lip ring, a bar in the cartilage of my ear, a tattoo of Oscar the Grouch on the back of my left leg.

Normally, just a hole or two is enough to purge a guy for me, but the purging just ain't been helping this time.

Because I'm dumb, I guess.

Tired of the pit, I hopped out and slumped over to the ramps, watching Carly bust out some pretty awesome moves for my friend who was near about drooling starshine.

I shook my head at the poor sap, attention moving to a guy practicing some kind of new board flip that's been going around. He was decent, though he couldn't quite nail the landing without losing his board or his balance. Some of the thuds of his body hitting asphalt made me wince, but he just brushed off the gravel imbedded in skin and did it again, just barely sticking it every third attempt or so.

Not knowing why, I sat my ass on my board to watch, chains jangling against the leg of my shorts as I pulled that cigarette from behind my ear to stick in the corner of my mouth.

The end was all damp with my spit when the guy suddenly paused just beyond a circle of light cast from the poles up overhead, pulling a glinting box from his pocket and surprising me by tossing it my way.

I only caught it by accident, glancing down to see it was a lighter with an engraved skull of a snake. Pretty badass, I gotta say.

"Nah, man, I don't smoke," I said though, tossing it back the same as it'd been thrown but he caught it one-handed.


"Then why the cig?"

His voice was deeper than I expected from the look of him, reminding me of something, but I shrugged, grin full of shark teeth.

"Got a oral fixation."

What I could see of his face appeared to fight amusement, the quirk of his mouth niggling me until he finally said, "Changed your hair."

I reached up, running fingertips over the short 'hawk I'd had cut in, the spikes small and hard and dyed deep green.


"Fits the loudmouth asshole you are. You've not been 'round the mall in a while. Guys are all getting lazy," he noted, and it suddenly hit me like a war hammer between the ears.


Lazy about it, the guy rolled closer to me, where the light let me see his face for the first time, his mouth quirking at my obvious shock as I looked the bastard up and down.

The faker weren't no ball-busting authority guy!

He was dressed like a deadhead skater, blood from his falls streaking down one leg all the way down to his ragged board shoes.

"…You're my Dial-A-Cop?"

The disbelief in my voice made him smile for real for the first time I ever seen; "Your Dial-A-Cop?"

I blushed, and he laughed, making me feel less even than those two inches this time.

"Thought the deal was you'd have me bored only if I gave you my number."


"If I give you my number, will you come around busting my chops at work again?"

I looked up at him before breaking into a huge grin; "Deal's gone up, Chuck. Phone number just won't cut it this time."

"What, I gotta buy you a wiener from the food court? …Yeah, okay."

His hand reached down and I let him haul me up, where he eyed my mouth with some interest.

"That's new," he said finally, meaning the stud in my lip, and I smiled, loving the feel of its pull.

"Not too new," I promised, feeling top shit again at the look in his eyes.


My fucking dial-a-cop.

a/n: end.