Chapter Sixteen:

The Streets Never Sleep

Strika entered the local barbershop and greeted the owner with a pound and bro hug. His platinum white-blonde hair had grown out and he needed a shape up. One of the more well-known barbers gestured to the senior, having an empty seat for him.

"Ay what's good Chopper," Strika said, taking a seat. Chopper threw the black tarp over Strika as he got out his clippers. He was a tall brown man with a crisp ceasar with a design on the back of his head and dull reddish eyes. He was of Hippowdon lineage, hiding his tusks by shaving them down into knobs.

"Low fade with a design through the side?" He asked.

"Two," Strika said, "As usual."

"Gotchu," Chopper confirmed, putting on his gloves. He lowered the chair and leaned it back and got to work. As he did, the Strika observed the other people in the barbershop—regulars and the ones who worked here. The owner, who'd gone by the name Max, was a slim, silver skinned man with tightly curled dark hair that was cut into a low fade with crisp edges. He hid his eyes behind huge mirrored shades, for he had three of them, with the third one right in the center above the other two eyes, which had only been partially hidden by the shades. He wore one blue sneaker and one red sneaker. He was of the Magnezone-line.

One other regular that Strika was familiar with was sitting just a few feet from him, also getting a shapeup. He was a fair skinned man, with thick, kinky honey gold hair and bushy beard with a long drooping mustache. He was twirling a spoon around telekinetically above his palm. He'd gone by the name Alton Zam and had been of the Alakazam-line. His barber was a slim, short caramel skinned woman with a shaved head. She had a cone shaped horn that poked up from the top of her head which she hid with a fedora. She wore blue jeans, blue kicks and a white tank top. Strika remembered her nickname to be Totty, of the Hitmontop-line.

"Ay," Alton Zam began, "Y'all catch the game?"

"Yeah," Chopper said, carefully edging up Strika's sides, "That joint was embarrassing—why the Los Lados Cleavers embarrassing the fuck outta us? They need to cut them two Scrafty niggas and trade for better shit."

"You talkin' about Shiva Scraft?" Totty asked, trimming Zam's beard, "Nah he, iight."

"No the fuck he ain't," Max said, sweeping up, "That motherfucker trash—he can't run for shit. Ion know why those who got Scrafty pedigree keep tryin out for Speedball. It's fuckin' retarded. Y'all ain't fast. It got 'speed' in the name, slow ass motherfuckers."

"Shiva was up 10 points this season," Strika chimed in, "It ain't Shiva fuckin' up the whole score for the L.L Cleavers…it's Shiva's bro, Sheiza."

"What kinda fuckin' name is Sheiza," Zam said, twirling the spoon sideways now, "Still trash tho."

"They both trash," Chopper argued, "Like, hear me out. If the goal of the game is to get the ball into the goal at the other end of the track, why the hell would you draft two of the slowest niggas in the whole league? Like, what?"

"They got good attackin' stats and can take a fuckin' beatin," Totty said, "They can humble niggas tryna trip up their teammates. Shiva ain't that bad. Sheiza…eh…"

"They can eat hits, okay? But either of them got the ball in they hand it's a fucking sad ass sight," Max said.

"Need to trade Sheiza for Glen," Strika said, "Sheiza ain't cuttin' it. It look bad on us."

"Maaaaaaan they were down five points last night," Max said, "It's both of them dragging that team down."

"Nah," Totty shook her head, careful with Zam's shapeup, "Nah nigga! Shiva intercepts like nobody's business. Ain't nobody else on that team eatin' hits like Shiva. Who you think gonna eat a take down? Fuckin' Lector Trode? That light foot ass nigga get tapped on the back and he breaks down crying."

"At least Lector fast!" Chopper snapped, "And beat out both Shiva and Sheiza by 15 points when it comes to actually fuckin' scoring."

"Yeah but Lector got the least interceptions," Zam said, "And he be getting his ass beat, for real tho. That nigga don't have hands and no defenses."

"The nigga literally has no hands bruh, he's an Electrode-type," Chopper said, still edging up Strika's sides, shaving in the designs now.

"Yea he does, he just runs like a fuckin' weirdo and thinks somersaulting is a legal move," Max said, "It ain't. Ion know why he hasn't been blue flagged yet."

"Lector got the shit kicked outta him last week bruh," Totty said, "That nigga garbage! So yea he be scoring, but he a fuckin' ball-hog. All this nigga do is snatch up the ball and fuckin run and somersault to the goal meanwhile his teammates getting fucked up. And when he gets intercepted—"

"He too fast to get intercepted—" Chopper argued.

"Nah! Cap! Stop the cap!" Totty called back, "He got intercepted three times this season and he got his ass BEAT cuz ain't got no fuckin' hands and his defense stat is fuckin garbo!"

"Nah!" Chopper yelled back, pausing for a second to wipe his clippers clean and then went back for the second design, "Shiva garbo! Nigga don't score shit!"

"Ay bruh," Strika said, "I think Lector iight. Sheiza is shit tho. Trade that nigga or bench him."

"I say bench him," Zam said, "And you know what, I hate fuckin' glass cannon ass niggas. Fast but once they get tackled… they down for the count. That's fuckin' lame shit, for real, for real."

"They gotta give props to Kinsley," Max said, "Steel types represent, yea-yea."

"Kinsley is fuckin' weird lookin…look like a robot low key, with a missing left eye," Zam said.

"Who cares bruh? Max said.

"Is he even a he?"

"Technically, he's genderless," Totty said, "But he said wanna be referred to as 'he,' so yeah, I'ma respect his pronouns."

"All you genderless mineral group niggas…how you even…" Chopper said, "Ya know? Make babies."

Max lowered his shades, giving him a look, "Motherfucka… we all sterile, we can't do shit unless it's with a Ditto bitch."

"You got both parts?" Chopper asked.

Max scoffed, "I ain't revealing that, bro-bro."

"Nigga who cares," Strika said as Chopper finished up, "Kinsley a he and the nigga pretty good for his position."

"Kinsley can take hits too," Totty said, "And got decent speed. He ain't the fastest but he scored some goals before."

"And he can dish shit out too, damn! You see Kinsley chin check the fuck outta some nigga tryna snatch the ball from him?"

"Steel types stay flexin' on y'all," Max said proudly, sweeping up the rest of the hair, "Y'all can talk all that spicy shit but at the end of the day, it's a steel-type takin' home the most points."

Chopper finished up, giving Strika his eyebrow cuts. He sprayed his hair and dusted him off, giving him a heated towel to place on his face.

"Kinsley literally got gears coming out his wrist and if that shit catches someone in the jaw—wheew—that gear grind, that'll really hurt a nigga."

"Ion about all that—was this nigga built in a lab or something?" Another customer quipped, overhearing their conversation.

Strika got up, looking at himself in the mirror. He looked pleased with the shapeup. He gave Chopper a twenty plus tip, giving him a pound as picked up his backpack.

"Yo later!" He called out as he headed out, leaving them to their arguments about sports.

Strika walked down the double flight of stairs into the subway, his earphones in and phone in hand. It was nighttime and he was going to meet Belilah in downtown Scion City. He looked around at 3rd Avenue Station. It was overrun with rats and litter, but the graffiti-covered walls gave it an inimitable flavor. There were cops chilling by the metro machines, keeping an eye out for turnstile jumpers. Strika got out his metro card, swiping once and walking through and waiting on the platform for the 12 train. He scrolled through his smartphone for a new song, shooting Belilah an "on my way," text. In about seven minutes, the 12 train pulled into the station, whooshing by. Strika pocketed his smartphone and walked into the train when the automatic doors slid open. It fairly crowded, but not so much that nobody could sit. Strika found a seat at the very end, across a middle aged woman who was coming home from work. She was half asleep with her young child sitting beside her, eating a popsicle. Strika smiled at him and the child stared, mesmerized by his neon blue eyes that seemed to a glow under the low lights of the train. The "please stay clear of the closing doors," chimed through the intercom as the doors slid shut and the train took off. Strika lightly bobbed his head to music as the train passed through 5th Avenue. Nobody got on the train on this stop, but people got off. Then soon, the train was off again, skipping some local stops.

Strika groaned quietly when he saw a bunch of loud ass preteens walked in through from the other cart, trying to egg people on to buy their dollar chocolate bars and fruit snacks. Within a few minutes of collecting about thirteen dollars from hungry passengers, they were gone, going into the next cart. The train passed through 12th Avenue now and cops got on, stood quietly by the doors, scrolling through their phones, wincing when they heard a woman yell at a crying child on the other side of the cart. Strika checked his breath and then popped in some gum, looking at the map. Right track, he reassured himself. The cops got off in two stops and the night time shift walked in, making the train a bit more crowded than usual. Strika got up, offering his seat to a pregnant woman. The train whooshed by 18th Avenue and they were out from the underground, now over the city. Strika looked out the window: the city lights were blinding, so much so, that the stars were never visible. The train came to a halt: a delay. He checked his phone, sucking his teeth. The delay lasted for five minutes and at the next stop, the night shift workers got off, leaving the cart halfway empty. The train pulled into 26th Avenue now, going back underground. A bunch of high school sophomores scurried in. One of them, being of a Loudred line, began beat boxing, his speaker shaped ears that poked through his curly hair, blasting the music. The other teenage boys began flipping and breakdancing, showing off to the people who were present. Some were interested, others weren't. Strika checked his phone, ignoring them.

Eventually, he was in downtown Scion City where skyscrapers kissed the heavens. The train pulled into his stop: Scion Square—40th Avenue. He got out with the quickness before any of those kids could ask him for money. He jogged up the three flights of stairs out of the station, looking around to see Belilah sitting on a bench. She looked up and grinned, running over to Strika and giving him a hug.

"Woah there, be careful," he said, picking her up and spinning her around in his embrace. Belilah let go, smiling brightly at him, slipping her arm though his.

"Where to?" She inquired, admiring his fresh cut.

"Ah…hmm…" Strika looked around. Scion Square was a cultural hub, beautiful, noisy and bright. "Ay, you hungry?"

"Always," Belilah said. He found a spot that was only twelve blocks from where they were standing on his phone. It was a place that sold jelly donut dishes, rice balls and bubble tea, something he hadn't had since freshman year. He grinned at her, picking her up.

"Hold on tight."

She listened as he dashed off, zigzagging through the permanently congested traffic of Scion Square. Belilah's eyes grew wide as she never seen the city from this vantage point: an eddy of light. He made a not so easy hairpin turn, slowing down for a split second before regaining momentum, briefly spotting someone familiar running the opposite way on the other side of the road. He continued on, reaching the spot: which had been called Dots. They specialized in serving circle shaped pastries and dishes. He set Belilah down, who looked absolutely thrilled, hopping up and down and giving Strika a kiss on the cheek. He opened the door, letting her in first and then followed. Dots had a circular theme for their décor: circular seats, circular tables, wheel shaped lights and spherical windows. Belilah took her seat, looking at the menu that was taped onto the table.

Strika grinned, bobbing his head as they played one of his favorite bops.

"Ay they playing my shit," he said, taking his seat across from her, "Knock, Knock by Machamp Miller."

Belilah smirked, "Oh? Who yo top five then?"

Strika laughed, "That's easy, Be. It's 2Pachirisu, the Infamous Wobbie, Jangmo-Z, Lil Warturtle and Emolga Slim."

Belilah giggled, "That's everyone's top five."

Strika shrugged, "I mean…they are the GOATs, RIP Wobbie and 2Pachirisu." Belilah chuckled again, looking down at the menu.

"I know what I'm gettin'."

"Me too," Strika said, "The jelly donut dish with these spherical looking tater-tot shits looks like its gon slap."

"I'm getting me the Circle Sundae," Belilah said, "Prolly three of 'em."

Strika nodded nervously, "Three?"

"Yeah. I'm hungry as fuck," she said giggling as Strika furtively checked his bank account on his phone. He sighed in relief when he realized he had more than enough. He smiled at her, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Jazmin darted by with Portia in tow and skidded to a halt in Scion Square—40th Avenue, throwing up her hands in delight. She hadn't gone to the city very often because everything was so expensive. But she saved up enough to treat Portia to a good night out and plus, Talon tagged along and was willing to chip in. Portia tucked her hair behind her fin shaped ears as she took in the sights, eyes wide at all the lights. As she did, Talon finally caught up to them on his skateboard, lighting his cigarette as he came to a slow stop.

"Ay, this place always lookin' lit," Jazmin said to Portia who grinned at her excitedly, giving her tight hug.

"Thank you," she whispered, "A bih really need this."

Jazmin hugged back, closing her eyes and smiling. When they ended the embrace, Jazmin took out her smartphone. She began searching for any local things they could do that were in their price ranges, but she decided to splurge a little. After three tries, she found something that looked interesting and somewhat affordable. Jazmin showed Portia what she'd found on her phone.

"The Second Sky!" Portia said excitedly, "I always wanted to go there, but shit be type expensive."

"Ay, we gotchu," Talon said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, "We gon' have a good night."

"Yeah and it only nine blocks," Jazmin said, jogging in place, getting ready, "Y'all good to go?"

Talon set his skateboard down and got back on it, already skating off in the direction of The Second Sky. Jazmin took Portia's hand, giving her a reassuring wink.

"Hol' on, biiiiiiiiiih!" She said as she ran off.

She sprinted through traffic, weaving and winding, with Portia holding onto her for dear life. Jazmin turned left down the center avenue, slowing down just a bit when she through Hoenn Boulevard, jumping to side to side over the pressure sensitive lights underneath the magnetic tiles. They reached The Second Sky in about two minutes, Jazmin doing a dramatic slide as she came to a halt. Portia slid with her, laughing. Talon reached them—flying instead. He landed in front of The Second Sky with his skateboard underneath his arm, knowing it would take too long to get there the "proper" way. They stood outside the building, staring. It was three stories, with its name in neon lights. It was an upscale restaurant for the Scion Street types, the high-rollers, the bankers and CEOs that had free time.

"We on the come up," Talon said, taking one last drag of his cigarette and then discarding it. They walked in through the stain glass doors that led them a luxurious lobby that was illuminated with soft, romantic lights. The floor was marble, the maximum was star studded while the walls were painted deep burgundy, with expensive paintings hanging tastefully around each other. The semi-circle booths were lit with scented candles that could not be found in any store and there were chandeliers hanging over the open bar. The bar itself had an LED table and a gorgeous bartender behind it, with all types of liquors that were far out their price range in any reality. A fresh scent wafted through the restaurant. It was orange spice incense that was being burned from gold plated pots placed on elegant obelisks. Jazmin, Portia and Talon looked around at the patrons. Most were dressed casually, but there were several in posh looking cocktail dresses and expensive suits. A young man was sitting by a piano, playing virtuoso with finesse to add to the genteel atmosphere. They walked towards the hostess who was standing behind a mahogany podium with a ledger open in front of her. She was dressed in a white button down and black slacks with matching shoes. She had cream colored skin, bright orange-red hair that fell down to her back and soft light brown eyes. She had a slight knob on her forehead—a unicorn horn that she'd shaved down to appear more humanlike. She eyed the three, blinking and confused. Jazmin was sporting huge hoop earrings, short-shorts, a tie up top and flats with several gold bangles. Portia wore a mini pencil skirt, a low cut crop top that exposed her modestly sized cleavage and cute little wedge heels with square hoops. Talon sagged his skinny jeans, wore black kicks and a black polo.

"Uh…" she started out, confused.

"Table for three," Jazmin said.

The hostess looked unsure, "Your names? Do you have a reservation?"

All three exchanged looks.

"Nah," Talon answered, "Iight, that's Jazmin, that's Portia, and I'm Talon."

"Talon?" She asked, disbelievingly.

"Uh, yeah," he said. The hostess closed the ledger and picked up three menus, gesturing them to follow her. She had a horse like tail behind her—fluffier and flame-like, however.

"Yo…this place fancy as fuck," Portia said, "Look at this shit—they burn flower petals in fuckin' gold pots."

"Um…its potpourri," the hostess corrected, "How old are all of you?"

"Fourteen," Jazmin said.

"Fifteen," Talon said, "And Portia fifteen too."

"Is fifteen too," the hostess said, feeling unnerved, "And…it's just you guys?"

"Yeah bih," Talon said. The hostess scoffed and set them at a table, giving them the menus.

"A waiter will be with you shortly," she said, with a forced smile. She trotted off, going back to her station. She whispered to the floor manager, informing them that those high schoolers that just entered were a "likely risk" for dining and dashing. Portia noticed this, and gave her a stank look when the hostess' back was turned.

"Why this bitch tryna act like we don't belong here," Portia whispered to Jazmin. She shrugged.

"Ion even care. Let 'em hate, bruh," she said, opening up the menu. She scanned through it, "Look at all this fancy shit."

Talon opened it up as well, "Ion about fancy…boujie, maybe…but The Second Sky is kinda lit."

"This looks good," Portia said, pointing to an item that read: Silver Seared Steak. Jazmin leaned over to see what number it was and then went to read the description. The menu hadn't been very large—only two pages, with six items on each page.

"A waygu ribeye, seasoned with smoked paprika and fresh basil, served with a…a…L-La Bonnette, on a char..char…charcuterie board…" Jazmin blinked a few times, "What in the fuck is waygu?"

"And what's a La Bonnette?" Portia mused.

"And… what the hell is a char..char…charcuterie," Jazmin added. Talon looked at another item on the menu.

"They got steamed lobster, half a pound," he said, "Uh…served with…crab cakes—ewwwww that sound suss as fuck."

Jazmin went to another item, "Tomato capriccio, with roasted squash, watermelon, basil and beets…that sounds like…ass, not gon' lie."

"This sounds good," Portia said, pointing to an item that read: Braised Pork.

"What's the description?"

Portia read it aloud, "Braised pork served with polenta and an eggplant caponata."

Jazmin set the menu down, giving Talon and Portia an exasperated look of utter confusion. As they mumbled to themselves about what these menu items could possibly be, a waiter walked up to their table, dressed elegantly in all black, with a tablet in his hand, ready to take their order.

"Hi," he said, getting their attention. They looked up at him in unison. He was a slender, fair skinned man who couldn't be older than twenty. His hair was a wreath of dark blue vines and his large eyes looked lovely in the low light. Jazmin noted he must have been of the Tangela or Tangrowth lineage.

"I'm Tanner," he said with a smile, "I'll be serving you tonight. Have you decided what you wanted?"

"Nah," Talon said, "Half this shit in here ain't even in English. The fuck is waygu?"

Tanner blinked, a bit surprised by the profanity, "Umm it's a type of beef, high quality usually. It's from Kanto."

"That sound kinda lit," Portia said, "Ion see the price by the fooddem tho."

"Uh…" Tanner laughed a little, "Okay… I'll get the prices for you…just let me know what you'd like…any appetizers or an amuse-bouche—?"

"Nigga wat?" Jazmin asked, "Amuse-bouche?"

"It's a type of appetizer," Tanner explained, "Almost like a palette cleanser. It's usually served on its own so you don't have to order it—"

"Uh," Portia interrupted, "What you mean you get the prices? Why ain't the price on the menu?"

"Well you see, we're a more upscale establishment for certain types of clientele, if you get my drift—"

"We got bread, nigga," Talon said, "Don't worry about the pricing, Portia, I gotchu. But deadass tho? No prices huh? Shit must be cure to caner."

"Um…"

"So what is a… Bol-Lo-Leez?"

"A Bolognese is a type of pasta dish," Tanner informed, "It's usually served with meat sauces, but there's other variations."

"…That actually sound mad good," Portia said, "I'ma take that."

Tanner sighed in relief and entered the number of that particular item in the tablet, "And you?"

Jazmin scanned through the menu one last time, "I'ma just get the Second Sky Special Burger."

Tanner nodded, entering that item's number in his tablet. He finally looked at Talon who said his order.

"Lemme get the fancy beef shit."

"The…Silver Seared Steak?"

"Yea-yeah, that," Talon said as Tanner put in his order. "Any drinks?"

"Y'all got 4 Loko?"

Tanner sighed tiredly, "No…"

"Ciroc?"

"You guys are clearly underage. I'm not taking that drink order," Tanner said.

"Malta?"

"No," Tanner mumbled, "The drinks are on the menu…"

Jazmin looked back in the menu and turned it around and surveyed the drink options. She wasn't too thrilled.

"Lemme get a jack and coke."

"You're underage," Tanner reiterated, annoyed.

"Okay I'll just get the coke," Jazmin said, grinning at him. Tanner wondered if he was being trolled.

"Ima get water," Portia said.

"Aaaaaaaand….I'ma get some blue lemonade," Talon said. Tanner put in that order, chuckling a bit.

"Anything else?"

"Ayo, do you smoke?" Talon asked.

"…No—?"

"I mean loud nigga. You wanna chill with us after yo shift?"

Tanner stared at them.

"And this motherfucker keeps taking half of our tips. I'm sick of that little waste of skin. I can't wait to quit this fucking job and just start up my vegan taco start-up deli truck," Tanner said, taking a hit of a blunt. He was sitting in the alleyway behind the Second Sky with Jazmin, Portia and Talon, passing the blunt to Portia now.

"Ay I feel ya," Jazmin said, sitting on the back steps that led into the kitchen of the restaurant, "Shit be buns. I'm doing community service right now."

"For what?" Tanner asked.

"Saving me," Portia said, passing the blunt to Talon, "I got snatched by some creep nigga that used to teach at our high school. Jazzy and Talon and other peeps from the school went all the way to Brightwater, bust into that nigga's house, whooped his ass and saved me."

"Damn," Tanner said, "That's some real shit. And this weed, real good shit, damn where you get this from?"

Talon smirked, "I got my connects."

"Hook me up," Tanner said, taking out his smartphone and taking down his number, "This shit slaps."

"Iight, gotchu," Talon said, passing to Jazmin who took a quick puff and handed it onto Tanner.

"How you started workin' at the Second Sky?"

"Eh…" Tanner shrugged putting one hand into his pocket as he took a hit, "Needed to money to help pay for college. Like, my dad cut me off when I turned nineteen. I'm about to be twenty-one. I got one more semester to go."

"Place seems boujie as fuck tho," Portia said, "Like the hostess was mad stuck up for no fuckin' reason."

"Oh? Ranelle? Yeah she kinda a stick in the mud," Tanner said, "She looks down on people. A lot people in Scion City do…"

"Ay, it is what it is."

"And you lot are from Los Lados?" Tanner inquired.

Jazmin nodded as Tanner passed the blunt to Portia. She took a hit and sighed, feeling the high wash over her.

"Damn…it's real out there," he said, chuckling, "Well…it's been good. Thanks…I needed this. I gotta start to pack up my shit and head home."

Jazmin smiled at him, waving as he walked through the alley entrance into the kitchen. As Tanner was gone, they finished the blunt in the alleyway, nice and full from the delicious, upscale dinner that was a once in a lifetime thing. Portia took the final puff and dropped the burnt out blunt and crushed it underneath her foot, blowing out smoke rings. She looked at Jazmin and Talon, throwing her arms around them in a group hug, giggling. They hugged her back tightly.

"I'ma miss you guys," she said, "Thank you, Talon. Thank you, Jazzy Jolt."

Jazmin hummed and Talon grinned, catching the moment on his phone in a selfie, posing.

#Friends4Lyfe