Cops and Robbers
seven
Braden.
There's no hot water. There is no hot water.
How many things can go wrong? First the lights go out in the middle of me taking a shit due to the food from that diner, and then I find a cockroach under the sheets, and now there is no hot water. Really? Really?
I end up jumping in and jumping out, leaving only enough time to quickly scrub my scalp before my teeth are chattering and I’m scampering for a towel. I wrap it around my waist and I can feel my skin crawl as the waxy, sullied material rubs against me with every step.
My clothes are in a heap on a chair. My pants, as I realize to my horror when I pick them up, have a giant stain of some sort of grimy material on the back. I bring them into the bathroom, into the light, and try to scrub the shit off. No luck.
I don’t wanna sound like a little whiney bitch, but this is ridiculous.
There is a laundry room down hall. I make a dash for it, so none of the other roomers see a kid in nothing but a short, dirty towel running by. Once in the bright room I shove my pants and boxers and shirt into a washer and dump in a couple cup-fulls of detergent from an orange container of Tide sitting on the dryer. The ancient thing hums to life, I settle back against it and pull out my phone.
Several missed calls from the guys, a couple texts from Sunny, nothing from Mom. I’m almost relieved so I won’t have to deal with her, and I delete Sunny’s texts and don’t even listen to the voicemails.
Suddenly the laundry door flies open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. I jump two feet in the air, dropping my phone behind the machines, and next thing I know as I’m staring at a very familiar girl looking like a corpse, holding her own clothes in need of a wash, the towel around my waist gracefully tumbles to the floor.
There's no hot water. There is no hot water.
How many things can go wrong? First the lights go out in the middle of me taking a shit due to the food from that diner, and then I find a cockroach under the sheets, and now there is no hot water. Really? Really?
I end up jumping in and jumping out, leaving only enough time to quickly scrub my scalp before my teeth are chattering and I’m scampering for a towel. I wrap it around my waist and I can feel my skin crawl as the waxy, sullied material rubs against me with every step.
My clothes are in a heap on a chair. My pants, as I realize to my horror when I pick them up, have a giant stain of some sort of grimy material on the back. I bring them into the bathroom, into the light, and try to scrub the shit off. No luck.
I don’t wanna sound like a little whiney bitch, but this is ridiculous.
There is a laundry room down hall. I make a dash for it, so none of the other roomers see a kid in nothing but a short, dirty towel running by. Once in the bright room I shove my pants and boxers and shirt into a washer and dump in a couple cup-fulls of detergent from an orange container of Tide sitting on the dryer. The ancient thing hums to life, I settle back against it and pull out my phone.
Several missed calls from the guys, a couple texts from Sunny, nothing from Mom. I’m almost relieved so I won’t have to deal with her, and I delete Sunny’s texts and don’t even listen to the voicemails.
Suddenly the laundry door flies open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. I jump two feet in the air, dropping my phone behind the machines, and next thing I know as I’m staring at a very familiar girl looking like a corpse, holding her own clothes in need of a wash, the towel around my waist gracefully tumbles to the floor.