Hometown, the gas station down the street from Roobie T’s house, had been a daily visit for him and Dennis for about 6 months now. Dennis, who was not given a last name by his parents, began going to Hometown with Roobie after he walked by his house one afternoon. Roobie was sitting on his porch, packing some fat lips with this new dip that he stole from Hometown. The dip was encased in a shiny green container, trimmed with gold around the edges, seeming to glow in the daylight. On top of the lid, was a girthy looking bear that sat on top of the words “Grizzly Dip”. Dennis stared at Roobie in awe. He had been itching to pack a lip after he dropped his old container in the shitter. His lips went dry as he tried to muster out any words that could get him some of that juicy lip.
“So you gonna share?” Dennis croaked out. You could hear the cravings in his voice along with the gleam in his eyes, a look Roobie had seen many times from the local crackheads at Burger King.
“Well, you could head two blocks down to Hometown and get yourself a pack. Then you could come back and pack your own fat lips you broke fuck.”
Dennis did not know what to say. He had been stealing his parent’s money out of the sock in the liquor cabinet for about six years now. He had also collected a fortune from the 2016 wishing well heist. The biggest neighborhood scandal since the pimp got loose in ‘94. The only problem with his earnings is he did not know how to spend it. Dennis never learned how to count due to his parents belief that education does nothing but corrupt a child’s mind. Instead they focused on more important lessons, such as how to spot the eyes of a man who sells quality products, the location of the emergency stash, and yard games.
While this thought processed through Dennis’s head, Roobie began to get pissed. The amount of time it takes Dennis to process a thought is much longer than the typical human. He will often stand and glare off into the distance with his mouth wide open. This can last upwards to 45 seconds and is the sole reason why Dennis doesn’t communicate with many. At the 20 second mark, Roobie stood and walked down the steps of the porch.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” Roobie yelled down his lawn. Dennis could not respond to this until his thought was fully analyzed. It was not looking good either, this was the hardest Dennis had ever had to think in his life. Roobie walked down the path and got inches to Dennis’s face.
“You know who I am?” Roobie said. There was no response except a strong exhale from Dennis’s mouth.
“These are my streets,” said Dennis. The words flew out as Dennis snapped, the withdrawals triggering a fight or flight response. He had to be the alpha male if he wanted some nic. Roobie’s fist flew across his face at an incredible pace. Dennis layed limp on the sidewalk, he began convulsing and screaming out.
“HELP ME BUY THIS FUCKIN NIC, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO COUNT MAN! PLEASE FOR FUCKS SA-”. The out cry was cut off by Roobie’s foot, blowing Dennis’s face into the concrete, which ended up shattering his skull. A small fragment of his skull pierced through his brain, destroying his ability to feel sensations ever again.
As a pool of blood began forming around Dennis’s head, Roobie realized that he was not aware of the power he possessed. He made a mental note that he must be more careful with his strength before he becomes too powerful. He lifted up Dennis, who was still conscious, but could not make direct eye contact because of his new lazy eye.
“You good?” Roobie asked, feeling a bit bad for Dennis. A few noises came out of Dennis, which Roobie took as a yes.
“Aye man, this lip is on me don’t worry about it”. It was the best gesture Roobie could think of. A smile formed on Dennis’s lifeless face. Roobie was the nicest man he had ever met. Knowing what would soon be in his hands, gave him a new life. He rose to his feet once more and looked Roobie in the eyes.
“Let’s pack some fuckin lips then” Dennis said with glee.
Right as the decision was made final, they heard a man call their attention from two houses down. It was Steve, the neighborhood watch, heading towards them. He had been observing the entire incident from his front lawn. He caught attention to the beating after hearing the wails of Dennis coming from a few houses down.
“You know, I saw this whole thing right? I saw exactly what you did to that young man.” Steve declared as he got closer to them.
“What are you talking about?” Roobie replied casually.
“A piece of his skull is lying on the sidewalk. I will be reporting this to the authorities immediately”. Steve said, holding up his phone.
“Mind your fuckin business you old geezer” Dennis said, walking closer.
“Huh?” Steve gasped. “Don’t you want some medical attention or something? A piece of your head is missing.”
“God damn right. He learned his lesson. You have a problem with education?” Roobie said, walking up to join Dennis in the stand off.
“What the fuck is happening right now?” Steve cried out as he began dialing 911. The croquet mallet bashed his head before the first number could be dialed. Knocking him unconscious immediately. Dennis stood over Steve, holding the weapon. The mallet was passed off to Roobie, who couldn’t help but get a few swings of his own. The first two swings were strategically placed, ensuring there would be suffering before Steve’s demise. Roobie squared up for his final blow, which sent his brains all over the yard.
“Damn that was badass, I honestly don’t think he’s alive” said Dennis. It was from that day that Roobie and Dennis became an unstoppable duo. Committing small time crimes such as pickpocketing, harassment, and loitering. All of these which groomed them for the biggest heist of their career.
Dennis pulled up to Roobie’s on his scooter at around 10:45 on a nice Sunday morning in June. The sun was shining bright down onto the lawns, making them appear as if they were glowing. Several old folks were singing joyfully, feeling completely at peace on a nice morning on the lord’s day. Roobie was sitting on his porch steps and having his ritual morning smoke. The Marlb Reds were the go to smoke on a day where he felt like having an adventure.
“Got any more circles on ya?” Dennis asked with a grin.
“Three left more in the pack, buddy. Sorry, these are for me.” Roobie replied.
“Hey man, quit being like that and give me a damn circle”
“Listen here ya little bitch, these aren’t like those bum ass circles that you’re smokin out here. These shits are the top quality, a sophisticated man’s smoke. You wouldn’t understand how good they are because half your brain fell out your head you stupid fuck”. Dennis broke into tears and fell to Roobie’s knees.
“Don’t make me do it” Dennis said, all the sanity draining from his face.
“Oh please god don’t” Roobie cowered in fear.
“It won’t stop until the circle is in my hand” Dennis announced as he began taking every piece of clothing off his body. Roobie scrambled to take one of the precious Marlbs out of the box as quickly as possible. Dennis got down to the thong before the circle was in his hand.
“You got a light?” Dennis asked. Roobie handed him the candle.
The old folks were no longer singing. It was now 11:15. The smell of circles was in the air. The crackheads were now awake and would be soon going out for their daily roam.
The crackheads had a strict schedule. After 11AM, they would begin to crawl out from down below and roam the streets. No one knows exactly where they come from, they just appear around town. The smell of a crackhead is strong enough to smell blocks away. The smell of Meth and sadness fills the air, the aroma of a class A tweaker. Approaching a local crackhead is quite dangerous. A simple 30 second conversation with a crackhead can allow them full access to your mind and your wallet. Your best option is to run as far away as you can from them, otherwise they might take you with them. The same thing happened to little Wilson Shurk, who used to entertain himself with the crackheads. He bought a brand new slingshot from the Charlie Mart and spent the whole summer shooting his feces at sleeping crackheads. Towards the end of the summer, he began boasting about his attacks and said nothing could slow him down. That was days before he was never seen again. The only evidence of little Wilson was his feces covered slingshot, which was found on the twisty slide at MCcroy Elementary.
Dennis put his clothes back on after his smoke, it was time to get to business.
“You got the supplies?” Roobie asked Dennis. Dennis nodded and began unzipping his duffle bag full of goodies. The duffle bag contained two paper bags to hide their identity, a baseball bat with four nails sticking out the side, six rubber gloves, two walkie talkies, a map, and two nutri grain bars.
“I can’t believe you remembered everything!” Roobie exclaimed. Dennis began to strip before Roobie calmed him down. Roobie rode his scooter out from the garage and followed Dennis down to Hometown, the target of their heist. Dennis fell far behind quickly because his motor skills had really taken a hit in the last couple months. The two block trip to Hometown took an impressive amount of time. The neighbors became concerned by the sight of Dennis as his legs started giving out from under him.
“You’re making a scene!” Roobie exclaimed as he dragged Dennis behind him for the rest of the way down the block.
The two walked up the parking lot of the local gas station they once frequented. The months of preparation were about to pay off in front of their eyes. They unzipped the duffle bag and placed their paper bags over their heads.
“Once we are in there, we can only communicate with these” Roobie explained to Dennis while handing him a walkie talkie. Dennis was just glad that the brains of this operation really took time to think things through.
They suspiciously crept through the doorway of Hometown. Upon entering, they were greeted by Kamal, the owner of Hometown.
“hi, welcome to hometown” Kamal said with the sadness of a broken marriage and a declining state of mental health. Roobie and Dennis took opposite ends of the store. Dennis crouched down behind the Hostess display and started rethinking his life choices.
“I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN DO THIS MAN, I’M FREAKING THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW!” Dennis exclaimed into the walkie talkie that had yet to be turned on.
“Are you guys going to buy anything or just make me uncomfortable?” Kamal asked.
Before a response could be given, the doors swung open accompanied with a loud womanly voice.
“THIS A DAMN ROBBERY MOTHAFUCKA, I DON’T WANT TO SEE NONE OF YOU MOTHAFUCKAS MOVIN!” It was Fontaine, the neighborhood skank. She was armed with a kitchen knife and did not look pleased.
“Alright, alright. Just take the damn money and don’t stab me. I’m having a bad day, Fontaine.”
“It pains me to hear that” Fontaine sympathized.
As this unfolded, Dennis and Roobie made eye contact from across the store. As their eyes locked, their brainwaves connected and a thought was shared. They must save their neighborhood gas station. Without Hometown, where would they go for their Big Red soda? Or a fresh pack of circles? This was a shrine that needed the very protection of the duo.
Dennis leaped forward with a battle cry and was stabbed by the skank.
“The skank stabbed me!” Dennis outcried.
“The name’s Fontaine, bitch” she told Dennis as she turned back to the counter for her money. The chainsaw sliced into her neck as Roobie came from the shadows. Seeing his holy shrink be put in jeopardy by Fontaine snapped a cord in him. The chainway didn’t slow down until the gas station floor was covered in the blood of the enemy.
“That’s my fuckin man right there!” Dennis shouted in excitement.
The hometown gas station would still be a daily visit for years to come.