John Bender flicked the filtered cigarette into a cracked grey glass
mug that sat atop the small kitchn table that held position to four empty
seats around it. The table had been purchased through from a very good
source. A garage sale. Actually, it hadn't even been that. The table had
been sitting on the curb waiting to be taken away by the garbage men on
Friday. John's father Frank, had decided that he would steal that table.
They were going to throw it away anyway, right?
The table had a loose left metal leg, and it wobbled whenever John - Bender - relaxed his elbows on it. Sure, if he wanted to, he could go fix it. Hell, he could probably spend 5 minutes at the dump and find a better table for their kitchen. (but, he wondered, how long would it actually hold up, after his mother took a couple fucks on it?) Bender stubbed out his cigarette the best he could on the inside of the coffeemug, folded his arms on the table, and rested his chin on his forearms. A pile of crumbs lay littered in front of his face and he blew them onto the floor. Fucking crumbs. Don't litter my table, he thought and brushed the rest onto the unwashed floor.
Brushing his grown out hair back, he stood up from the nearly broken kitchen chair (also from a curb, but a different one) and took a couple steps back to the beige refrigerator, which held a single magnet that read "Keep on Truckin' ". Bender looked at it for a second and then tore open the fridge door. A six pack sat on the 2nd wire shelf. But now it was just a 3 pack.
He bent over and picked up one of the cold cans. His father would have a shit if he were to catch him drinking again. Especially one of his beers, in his kitchen. Bender couldn't give a bigger fuck if his father got mad. He was upstairs, probably jacking off in the shower. Bender didn't give a fuck. He shut the fridge door, rattling the magnet on the front, and he once again took a seat on the unstable green chair.
Snapping open the Bud, he proceeded to drunk the foaming drink, wiping his lip with the back of his hand.
Crashing from the floor above Bender, did not even make him flinch. His father was pissed off again. Big fucking surprise. He was always pissed off at something or other. Bender couldn't care less. The crashing became louder as Frank thundered down the stairs. "JOHN!" He yelled and popped his head into the kitchen. "What," Bender answered back with some attitude in his voice. Silence came from behind him where his father stood at the doorway. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He snarled and walked up closer. Bender put his feet up on the rickety table and took another big foamy gulp of the beer. "What the fuck does it look like I'm doing," He answered back and took another swig, ignoring his father's glaring eyes.
Suddenly a hand swatted at the beer can as he brought it to his lips. The can shot out of Bender's hand and hit the smoke stained wall, rolling on the ground. Bender stood up angrily, challenging his dark eyed father. "What the fuck did you do that for?" He asked angrily. 'You will not drink my beer in my house, you sad pathetic punk," Frank gritted his teeth back. "Then maybe I won't drink it at your house," Bender answered and then started for the broken screen door that was barely shut, that opened to the kitchen. "The hell you will - " Frank grabbed his arm. Bender turned around and furiously waved his seventeen year old arm to his his father, but his hand was blocked and the hit was reversed. Bender bent over to the floor, blood dripping from his nose and mouth onto the already filthy floor. "Punk.."His father muttered, kicked the beer can to the other side of the kitchen, and walked out.
Bender looked up to find him gone, then looked back to the floor at the nice pool of blood he was making. "Asshole.." He breathed and then walked out that broken screen door, letting it slam on his way out.
The table had a loose left metal leg, and it wobbled whenever John - Bender - relaxed his elbows on it. Sure, if he wanted to, he could go fix it. Hell, he could probably spend 5 minutes at the dump and find a better table for their kitchen. (but, he wondered, how long would it actually hold up, after his mother took a couple fucks on it?) Bender stubbed out his cigarette the best he could on the inside of the coffeemug, folded his arms on the table, and rested his chin on his forearms. A pile of crumbs lay littered in front of his face and he blew them onto the floor. Fucking crumbs. Don't litter my table, he thought and brushed the rest onto the unwashed floor.
Brushing his grown out hair back, he stood up from the nearly broken kitchen chair (also from a curb, but a different one) and took a couple steps back to the beige refrigerator, which held a single magnet that read "Keep on Truckin' ". Bender looked at it for a second and then tore open the fridge door. A six pack sat on the 2nd wire shelf. But now it was just a 3 pack.
He bent over and picked up one of the cold cans. His father would have a shit if he were to catch him drinking again. Especially one of his beers, in his kitchen. Bender couldn't give a bigger fuck if his father got mad. He was upstairs, probably jacking off in the shower. Bender didn't give a fuck. He shut the fridge door, rattling the magnet on the front, and he once again took a seat on the unstable green chair.
Snapping open the Bud, he proceeded to drunk the foaming drink, wiping his lip with the back of his hand.
Crashing from the floor above Bender, did not even make him flinch. His father was pissed off again. Big fucking surprise. He was always pissed off at something or other. Bender couldn't care less. The crashing became louder as Frank thundered down the stairs. "JOHN!" He yelled and popped his head into the kitchen. "What," Bender answered back with some attitude in his voice. Silence came from behind him where his father stood at the doorway. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He snarled and walked up closer. Bender put his feet up on the rickety table and took another big foamy gulp of the beer. "What the fuck does it look like I'm doing," He answered back and took another swig, ignoring his father's glaring eyes.
Suddenly a hand swatted at the beer can as he brought it to his lips. The can shot out of Bender's hand and hit the smoke stained wall, rolling on the ground. Bender stood up angrily, challenging his dark eyed father. "What the fuck did you do that for?" He asked angrily. 'You will not drink my beer in my house, you sad pathetic punk," Frank gritted his teeth back. "Then maybe I won't drink it at your house," Bender answered and then started for the broken screen door that was barely shut, that opened to the kitchen. "The hell you will - " Frank grabbed his arm. Bender turned around and furiously waved his seventeen year old arm to his his father, but his hand was blocked and the hit was reversed. Bender bent over to the floor, blood dripping from his nose and mouth onto the already filthy floor. "Punk.."His father muttered, kicked the beer can to the other side of the kitchen, and walked out.
Bender looked up to find him gone, then looked back to the floor at the nice pool of blood he was making. "Asshole.." He breathed and then walked out that broken screen door, letting it slam on his way out.