The man with the silver hair ran as fast as he could down the street, holding a small bag in his arm. Pursuing him was a larger man with tattoos covering his arms, a shaved head, and a very bad temper.
"You get back here!" He shouted at the runaway, as he continued to follow him.
The man holding the bag ran into a nearby alley, and was shocked when he saw the big slab of concrete at the end of it, dividing the alley in two. There was no way out now; he had chosen a dead end. He backed into the corner, the larger man approaching him slowly but dauntingly. The escapee looked left and right in a panic to try to find an exit.
"I've got you cornered. Now give me back my stuff!" The man shouted.
"No way in hell!" The nimble man responded. "You have no idea who you're messin with, do ya?" (Maybe letting off an intimidating attitude would give him more time), he thought. (A ladder... no doors... this concrete is 15 feet tall...)
"Nah, so why don't you tell me?" The tattooed man said, coming closer. It was only a moment before he would be captured, he had to think fast.
"My name?" He said, chuckling. And as soon as he finished his two words, he leaped up with all his might to the ladder of the fire escape of the building to his left. He climbed up and jumped off towards the concrete slab. While soaring through the air, the tattooed man looked up, amazed at him. The acrobat managed to get a grip on the top of the slab where cracks had formed. He pulled himself up, stood on top of the slab, and looked down at the stunned man below. "My name is Chipp Zanuff! And don't you forget it!"
And with his final words, Chipp jumped off the slab in the other direction and ran off into the night.
-----
Chipp woke up slowly from his stupor the next morning to several loud knocks on the door. The bag he stole the night before was completely empty now. Chipp rolled over on his dirty mattress. The dank apartment smelled of alcohol and marijuana, a drug very popular in the 20th century. Light fixtures were loose, swinging and making the lights flicker on and off. Water leaks, broken walls, cobwebs, the entire set. And here Chipp was laying on his filthy mattress that rested on the floor, partly covered by a ragged blanket.
More knocks on the door.
"What do you want?!" Chipp yelled, sounding still half-asleep.
"Your damn rent," The voice behind the door shouted. "You haven't paid me in over 2 months, Z."
Chipp got up, and put on his jeans and tight black muscle shirt. He approached the door and looked through the rusted eyehole. Indeed it was his landlord. The landlord was a man not much older than Chipp, who dressed very shabbily and always had a pencil behind his ear. Yuri, the landlord, had become a friend of Chipp's over their common interest of reviving past culture. The one thing Yuri didn't know about this resident is that he had been working for the mafia from a young age, dealing drugs. Chipp opened the door slowly.
"Jesus," Yuri said in a surprised voice. "You look like you were just hit by a truck."
"Screw you, man." Chipp said, rubbing his eyes.
"Look, Z. Your rent has been late for a long time. And I know we're buds, but this can't keep happening."
"Yeah... I know." Chipp invited Yuri in for a moment, while he went to the drawer that sat beside his bed. He pulled out a very large sum of money and gave it to his intendent. "Take it and leave me alone."
Yuri looked down, shocked at the money in his hand. "I'm not even going to ask where you got this," He said quietly. "But Z... do me a favor and clean yourself up. These drugs are doing nothing but bad for you, man."
"Get out of my room." Chipp said.
Yuri just stood still. "Please, man. It's gonna end up ruining you."
Chipp pulled out his knife and threw it at the wall directly behind Yuri. "That's a warning!" Chipp shouted. "I said, get out!" And with that, Yuri immediately turned and ran.
Chipp went back to his mattress and laid back on it. He had no family except the mafia themselves now. But Chipp was not one to get paranoid, which is why his recent feelings frightened him. It was always survival of the fittest for Chipp, but he knew somewhere inside that if he kept doing this to himself with his drugs, that he wouldn't be fit to live anymore. There was no easy way out of this. There used to be an easy way out of everything, but this time Chipp was trapped in on his own. And if the mafia found out his drug trafficking was becoming less successful because of his addictions, he could even be killed.
"But who would ever come to rescue a man like me?" Chipp said, throwing a bottle across the room, where it shattered, and several drops of whatever was left spilled onto the floor.
"You get back here!" He shouted at the runaway, as he continued to follow him.
The man holding the bag ran into a nearby alley, and was shocked when he saw the big slab of concrete at the end of it, dividing the alley in two. There was no way out now; he had chosen a dead end. He backed into the corner, the larger man approaching him slowly but dauntingly. The escapee looked left and right in a panic to try to find an exit.
"I've got you cornered. Now give me back my stuff!" The man shouted.
"No way in hell!" The nimble man responded. "You have no idea who you're messin with, do ya?" (Maybe letting off an intimidating attitude would give him more time), he thought. (A ladder... no doors... this concrete is 15 feet tall...)
"Nah, so why don't you tell me?" The tattooed man said, coming closer. It was only a moment before he would be captured, he had to think fast.
"My name?" He said, chuckling. And as soon as he finished his two words, he leaped up with all his might to the ladder of the fire escape of the building to his left. He climbed up and jumped off towards the concrete slab. While soaring through the air, the tattooed man looked up, amazed at him. The acrobat managed to get a grip on the top of the slab where cracks had formed. He pulled himself up, stood on top of the slab, and looked down at the stunned man below. "My name is Chipp Zanuff! And don't you forget it!"
And with his final words, Chipp jumped off the slab in the other direction and ran off into the night.
-----
Chipp woke up slowly from his stupor the next morning to several loud knocks on the door. The bag he stole the night before was completely empty now. Chipp rolled over on his dirty mattress. The dank apartment smelled of alcohol and marijuana, a drug very popular in the 20th century. Light fixtures were loose, swinging and making the lights flicker on and off. Water leaks, broken walls, cobwebs, the entire set. And here Chipp was laying on his filthy mattress that rested on the floor, partly covered by a ragged blanket.
More knocks on the door.
"What do you want?!" Chipp yelled, sounding still half-asleep.
"Your damn rent," The voice behind the door shouted. "You haven't paid me in over 2 months, Z."
Chipp got up, and put on his jeans and tight black muscle shirt. He approached the door and looked through the rusted eyehole. Indeed it was his landlord. The landlord was a man not much older than Chipp, who dressed very shabbily and always had a pencil behind his ear. Yuri, the landlord, had become a friend of Chipp's over their common interest of reviving past culture. The one thing Yuri didn't know about this resident is that he had been working for the mafia from a young age, dealing drugs. Chipp opened the door slowly.
"Jesus," Yuri said in a surprised voice. "You look like you were just hit by a truck."
"Screw you, man." Chipp said, rubbing his eyes.
"Look, Z. Your rent has been late for a long time. And I know we're buds, but this can't keep happening."
"Yeah... I know." Chipp invited Yuri in for a moment, while he went to the drawer that sat beside his bed. He pulled out a very large sum of money and gave it to his intendent. "Take it and leave me alone."
Yuri looked down, shocked at the money in his hand. "I'm not even going to ask where you got this," He said quietly. "But Z... do me a favor and clean yourself up. These drugs are doing nothing but bad for you, man."
"Get out of my room." Chipp said.
Yuri just stood still. "Please, man. It's gonna end up ruining you."
Chipp pulled out his knife and threw it at the wall directly behind Yuri. "That's a warning!" Chipp shouted. "I said, get out!" And with that, Yuri immediately turned and ran.
Chipp went back to his mattress and laid back on it. He had no family except the mafia themselves now. But Chipp was not one to get paranoid, which is why his recent feelings frightened him. It was always survival of the fittest for Chipp, but he knew somewhere inside that if he kept doing this to himself with his drugs, that he wouldn't be fit to live anymore. There was no easy way out of this. There used to be an easy way out of everything, but this time Chipp was trapped in on his own. And if the mafia found out his drug trafficking was becoming less successful because of his addictions, he could even be killed.
"But who would ever come to rescue a man like me?" Chipp said, throwing a bottle across the room, where it shattered, and several drops of whatever was left spilled onto the floor.