Witch Piss

by Sam Pink

  Troy said, “Nah, I mean, issa trissa but, heh. I mean, yeah, I’s sleepin a lil haha.” Then he leaned over. “Hol on a sec, there.”

  He grabbed a plastic jug near his bed and put it beneath his blankets, pissed.

  He set the jug back down, almost knocking it over.

  “Ohps,” he said, catching the jug and settling it.

  Face said, “Be right back. Finna get them beers.”

  He jogged down the alley.

  I noticed there was a roof ten feet above Troy and his bed throne.

  “Oh man, that’s nice,” I said. “Just saw that.”

  Troy gestured to it with his hand. “Aw yeah, tissa dissa thing, it’s, I mean ey…the rain starts pouring, ey, RUN IT!”

  “RUN IT!” was something he said a lot — like “Yes!” or “All right!”

  I think it referred to using a credit card, like when you ‘run it’ through the sliding machine.

  Or maybe it was football-related.

  Not sure.

  Troy’s main sayings were:

  “That’s not my problem/That’s on you/Run it!”

  I leaned on a dumpster, my elbows and forearms on the lid.

  Another beautiful day.

  Glad to be alive and have friends.

  Troy was already asleep again, both hands on his chest.

  A rat crawled out from behind the freight door and onto his blanket.

  He partially woke up, trying to launch/tent the rat off him by pushing his hands up under areas of the blanket.

  On the third attempt, he launched the rat off the blanket.

  Face came back with a 1/3-full fifth and an Old Style 12-pack containing different bottles of beer he’d taken from the Two Door.

  He passed me the fifth and I took a pull, checked the bottle.

  McCormick’s whiskey.

  Special Reserve.

  Since 1856.

  I took another pull.

  The first pull tasted like whiskey and the second one tasted like something else — something you’d use as an extreme measure against acne.

  I drank warm beer along with it, hoping to die in my sleep.

  “Thanks man,” I said to Face, holding up my Old Style.

  “What I always tell you?” Face said.

  I did an impression of him. “You good, cous? You need something?”

  Face laughed, stomping the ground a little.

  He switched his hat from back/left to straight backwards.

  Troy pointed. “Whassa, ey, y’goin neutral there?”

  Face smiled. “Yizzir.”

  Troy said, “Folkz and People and issa all that gang bullshit, heh.”

  Face flipped his hat to the right. “This for them Folkz.” Then flipped it to the left. “This for People.” He looked at me, nodded upwards. “Who you with, cous? Who you with?”

  I said, “You know damn well I got Folk love, bitch, till the motherfuckin world blow.”

  Face laughed, slapping the dumpster lid.

  “For certain, cous,” he said. Then he cleared his throat and looked serious. “But nah, man. I done seen all that shit growing up in the projects. Yizzir, I done see some shit people never see in they goddamn life, man. Damn jo, sometimes I say to myself, ‘Face, how you survive this shit? How you still here?’” He nodded a little, looking at me. “We talkin bout, ‘Get Mine, Protect Yours,’ cous. And them niggas is nasty.”

  He described the layout of the different buildings in the projects where he grew up.

  It was where the Bulls and Blackhawks played, a mile and a half outside of The Loop.

  “See, they was fo buildings in my projects. Different gang in each building, cous. They was um, GDs, BDs, Foes, and Travs. I’s hustling Travs, cous.”

  “Travelling Vicelords,” I said.

  “Yizzir. Fo buildings. GDs in this one”—he motioned with his hand, keeping his other hand at a different location—“BDs right here, and Foes up in there, and us Travs, we’s in this building.”

  He took a pull off the fifth and passed it.

  I took a pull.

  Face said, “We had a abandoned apartment at the bottom of my building.” He pointed at the large freight door behind Troy’s bed, where Troy was sleeping. “And in the middle, they was a big empty window. Talkin bout, we use’a creep up along against the wall, then”—he turned sideways and held out an imaginary gun—“Blaow Blaow. Poppin BDs all day.” He put up a VL sign on his hand. He was smiling at me, shaking his head. “I use’a think I’d never die, cous. Use’a think I’s fucking unstoppable. I use’a think them bullets”—he stuck his chest out then touched all his fingers to his chest, let his hands drop—“clink, clink, talkin bout them bullets just fall right off me, cous. That’s what I thought. Ain shit you could do to me back then. But nah, then they kilt my friend — my nigga, Big Soft. That was my boy. Man jo, he a skinny ass motherfucker man, shit. Buck oh five with the rocks and Hennessy in his pants, cous. Crook-eyed motherfucker. But that nigga had the whole hood scared. Nobody in our building fucked with him, jo. Then, one night I’s with him, and we’s running from some hoods blassin at us, cause you know I done been shot at 19,000 times. And motherfuckers got him with a AK.” He pointed to just above one hip, “Bullet went from here”—then pointed to his other hip—“all the way out here. I done seen him fall and die in the street. Fucked me up. That’s when I got out of the bullshit, man.”

  “They didn’t try to kill you?” I said.

  “Hell nah. That’s some bullshit. Ain no jump in jump out with us. No blood in/blood out. Uh uh. We ain do that bullshit, rabbit-ass gang shit. Nah. You don’t put yo hands on me. That’s for the Puerto Rican, fuckin, Messican gangs. Shit though, not the brothers. You don’t put yo hands on the brothers. How I’m gonna help yo ass when you kickin me and shit? Fuck nah, nigga. Don’t put yo hands on me.”

  Troy woke up a little, barking out some mucus.

  Face said, “Oh sorry, T.” He shook his head and clicked his teeth. “Nah but I done seen it all though, cous. Yizzir. I done see some shit,” He put a finger to his temple. “I wish I had a plug or some shit, put my mind inside yo mind.” He pointed to the scar on his cheek. “See this shit. Motherfuckers cut me over some rocks. Like fo lil rocks. Yizzir. I done seen motherfuckers shoot a nigga right in the face.” He pointed a gun at his face and went, “Blahhhhh”—staggering back a little. “I done seen a nigga get his head cut off and thowed out a 15-story window. I done seen a motherfucker — you know them 2 by 4’s? — I done see a motherfucker tied up with a arm on each end of a 2 by 4 and a motherfucker take a bat and bust up all this here”—pointing to his ribs. “Man, I had to run out, I was puking from hearing nothing but bones crackin. Cruck cruck cruck. I done seen a motherfucker thowed down the uh, you know them garbage chutes? Over some 20 dollars man, shit. That’s how we did it though, cous. We use’a kick it and bang all the time. I’d have my rocks, my Hennessy, some rolls, fucking everything. Sit on the stoop with my strap.” He lifted his shirt a little by his waistband. “Man, one time we was on the block and this nigga went through the alley with a, you know a, a tommy gun? Fucking bussin that shit for like three minutes straight. Big ass bulletholes in the metal mailbox in our building, jo. Could put yo thumb in the holes, man. But shit, I’on’t know. I never gave a fuck bout that shit, cous. I thought I’s the devil hisself sometimes. I eat a bullet like some fuckin mints.” He speared out his gum with his long pinkynail and took a pull off the fifth then put the gum back in his mouth. “Oh shit, that remind me. Troy, you seen that motherfucker Jeffrey?”

  Troy was asleep.

  “Troy?” Face said. “Ey.”

  Troy opened his eyes and tried to focus.

  “You seen Jeffrey?”

  “Who?”

  “Jeffrey,” Face said, louder.

  Troy wiped his eyes. “Oh yeah frissa bissa, haha, becussa the burrito thing?”

  He rested his hands on his chest, fingers interlaced and seemingly revived from his nap. />
  “Yeah man, fuck that,” Face said. “That nigga on some treason shit.” He looked at me and said, “Man this du Jeffrey, he come up to me outside the bar, talkin bout, he need money for a burrito. Ok. So I gave him half. I gave him three dollars so he could get hisself a burrito. But I done tol him before he left—” Face clapped his hands together, then took one hand out and pointed at me, “I tol him: save me a little. I knew he was hungry so I didn’t say no ‘Save me half.’ I said, you know, ‘Just save me a little.’”

  “Uh oh,” I said.

  Troy was already laughing/coughing a little.

  Face clamped his teeth together. “That motherfucker ate the whole damn thing cept for a lil scrap a some lettuce.”

  Troy started laughing really hard. He wiped his eyes and said, “Issa bissa, ey, he fung kilt that thing, run it!”

  Face said, “Next time I see him, I’ma whoop that nigga’s ass, jo. Talkin bout, left me with a little scrap a some lettuce and shit — ain even any meat in it.” Then he paused like he was alone, and in a really quiet voice he said, “Ey you know what though, god bless him. If he was hungry enough to smash that burrito like that, gobbling it down like that, then he needed it, cous. I got food at my mom crib, you know? It’s aight.” He shook his head, smiling. “He smashed it though. Suh-mashed that bitch.”

  Troy was laughing. “Kilt that fung thing.”

  He cleared some mucus with a little bark.

  “God bless him then,” Face said. He looked at me. “S’like how you did good for my man Speedy. God gon do you right by you f’that.” He turned to Troy. “Ey, T. Thissa coo cat right here. He help Speedy dumb-ass out.”

  Face told him the story.

  Troy laughed. “That marfucker. You know why his lecks don’t fung work right?”

  “He told me he was in Vietnam,” I said. “And that the Air Force is for pussies.”

  Troy laughed/coughed.

  Face laughed like, ‘Hik’ik’ik’ as he got out a cigarette, spearing gum out of his mouth with his pinky nail. “Nah man. Speedy a dumb motherfucker. Swear to god. I love that man, but he fucking dumb as it is, cous. That motherfucker used to be about that graffiti shit and whatnot, that taggin. And his dumbass started getting high off the spraypaint. You know, you uh, spray alla paint in a bag then breave it in. Dumb ass done fucked up his spinal cord.”

  Troy said, “Issa, uh, the, the”—pointing up into the air, “Huffing. Assa, yeah, called huffing.”

  “Yeah, huffing,” Face said. He clicked his teeth, making an ‘oh well’ expression. “Yizzir.”

  I briefly imagined a withered root as Speedy’s spinal cord.

  Running it between my teeth to scrape off what little’s left.

  My only prayer being, “I’ll always take what little’s left.”

  “Scrap a some lettuce,” I said, shrugging.

  Face laughed. “Tellin you, that nigga suhmashed that bitch. Left jussa scrap a some lettuce and shit.”

  Troy laughed a little, half-asleep again.

  He stretched out his arms and put them behind his head.

  He accidentally hit the piss jug with his elbow and the jug wobbled, but he grabbed it and settled it.

  Face said, “Ey, Troy, gimme that beer.”

  Troy grabbed the piss jug and said, “This beer?”

  Face laughed.

  Troy laughed, waving his hand down like ‘nah just kidding.’

  Then he grabbed a 40 by his bed and handed it to Face.

  Face said, “What if I just take this shit from you right now, on some gangsta shit.”

  Troy said, “Go ahead, issa bissa, yo, look, I mean, fine. I don’t give a fuck about the beer. Just don’t take the piss ok?”

  Face laughed, slapping the dumpster lid a little, holding the 40 up high.

  Troy said, “Leave the apple juice, y’know? I need my vitamin C in the morning.”

  Face was stomping and laughing.

  He took a big pull off the 40 and passed it to me.

  This guy rode up on a mountain bike and came to a stop right in front of us with a small skid.

  Couldn’t even tell where he came from.

  It was an older guy in an Army jacket.

  He had long hair in a ponytail, a huge hook nose, handlebar moustache, no front or top/bottom teeth, baseball hat with a small flashlight taped to the bill.

  I said hi to him and he started talking to me.

  He had a light lisping voice with a seemingly Canadian accent.

  He kept laughing like, ‘Sis sis sis’ then saying, “Hoo hoo.”

  His eyes slowly slanted inward and remained crossed for a few seconds.

  “Hey man,” he said. “Wanna know something? I mean, hey um, do you like videogame systems?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Which one do you have?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  He unzipped a bag attached to his bike. “Hey um, because, wanna know something? Guess what, there’s this wireless controller I got for sale. Twinny dollars. Yeah.”

  He showed me a wireless controller, still in the box.

  “Oh nice,” I said.

  “Yeah um, because, guess what. Wanna guess what? It’s brand new. The assholes at the game store threw it out in the alley. You know what? I have to say this, and I’m sorry, but I like living in the city because of how wasteful people are. Yeah. Hoo hoo. Wanna know, um, no I mean how much you think this is?”

  “Like, sixty dollars? Fifty dollars?”

  “No. Forty-nine ninety-nine.”

  He put it back in the bag attached to his bike.

  “I got all kinds of stuff,” he said. “Hey um, you smoke weed?” He got out a little pipe and a grinder. “Hey how about this for something, want to know how much this grinder costed?”

  “Thirty dollars.”

  “No. Nothing dollars. I got it for free when I worked security at this concert place. This stupid girl, oh man, hoo hoo, wanna know how stupid she was, man? She comes up to me and says, ‘Hey I got those doses.’ LSD. She said that to me, and I’m like, I pointed at the word ‘Security’ on my shirt. Thank you! I took her doses and this grinder.”

  Both his eyes went inward toward his nose for a few seconds.

  Troy said, “Ey, don’t smoke that over here. I don’t want it smelling over here, I know all the neighbors. Come on.”

  Bike Guy and I walked ten feet away, around the corner a little.

  I could hear Troy saying, “You know, come on. This my place. People have rules for their houses. I have rules for my place.”

  Bike Guy lit his pipe and took a pull and held it in, pinching his nose shut.

  He laughed like “Sis sis sis” as he exhaled.

  I took the remaining pull and thanked him.

  He looked at me.

  Both his eyes went inward.

  He said, “If you know anyone who um, wants that controller, let me know, man.”

  “I will.”

  We went back around the corner.

  Bike Guy walked over to his bike, reached into his coat, and took out a tallboy of Old Style from an inside pocket.

  He put the tallboy into the waterbottle slot on his bike and rode away.

  “You guys know him?” I said.

  Face said, “Yeah he come around here once a while. That du fucking weird, cous.”

  Troy said, “Ey, not my problem,” half-asleep. Then he woke up and looked around a little. “Ey, hassa goin?”

  Face told a story about how he’d been drinking here at Troy’s one night, with one other guy, and the Bike Guy came up and talked to them.

  “So this crook-eye bike du talkin us. Me and o’boy sitting side by side over here. And o’boy say, ‘Who is you talkin to, me or him?’”

  Face and Troy started laughing hard.

  I laughed.

  Oh man.

  “Who is you talkin to,” Face said again, in a breathless/highpitched voice, pointing from eye to eye.

  Troy looked a
t me and said, “Hey man, wait till you hear the rest”—putting the piss jug back under the blankets.

  Face said, “When the motherfucker rode down toward the street, o’boy like, ‘Make sure you look boaf ways!’”

  He and Troy started laughing again.

  Troy coughed like ‘kunk kunk.’

  Face slid down the dumpster a little as he pounded the top of it.

  “Boaf ways,” he said, kneeling behind the dumpster laughing. “Hahhhhh.”

  I was smiling.

  It was a nice night

  The perfect night to die in your sleep.

  I said, “Have either of you guys seen Spider-Man? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  Face took a pull off the fifth and ate the gum back off his nail. “Yeah where Janny at? He supposed to be back already.”

  Troy said, “Bissa no, I mean heece back around. He got kicked out of that, assissa, assisted living place with Janet, y’know? S’all bullshit, man. He uses her. But ey, whatever. Not my problem.”

  Face said, “Yeah, he a bastard. Beatin on her and shit.”

  “Ey, lissa,” Troy said. “He has her sit out front the fung post office all day. She makes six’y dollars in one day. She gives it all to him. His lazy ass goes out and drinks while she sits out front in her fung wheelchair.”

  “Yeah he an assho,” Face said, nodding, clearing his throat. “I seenem slap her around too.”

  “But ey, not my problem,” Troy said.

  Face took a pull off the fifth. “Hey, you know what I noticed T? Shit’s always about you, man. No matter what we talkin bout. Everybody tryna have a nice conversation, and you tryna talk about yo shit. It ain T world, man. Can’t be that way.”

  Troy said, “What? Nah man.”

  “It ain only about you, T,” Face said. “Can’t care only about yoself.” He pounded on the dumpster lid. “Ain T world, man.”

  “Nah, I’on’t care about myself,” Troy said, shaking his head a little and straightening his blankets. “I’on’t care if I die tomorrow. Come on, I’ma bum. I’m fung bum, I don’t care about myself. I’m nobody, y’know?”

  “Aight man,” Face said, staring off to the side. “I heard you, jo. Coo.”

  Troy said, “No, bissa, becussa I—”

  “I said I heard you, motherfucker. Damn, shut the fuck up, Troy.”

  Face was tapping the dumpster lid with his fingernails. Making a fist with the other hand. Nobody said anything for a little bit.