Feeding Time
“You can't call yourself that, I'm pretty sure you can get sued.” Richard said to the young man in the van with him.
“How so? It's my name, ain't it?”
“Donald is your name, but when you add that MC in front of it, you are setting yourself up for a lawsuit.”
The younger man shook his head, beaded rows of plaited hair clacking against each other. “Whatever man, I don't think they're going to care.”
“You think they haven't sued people for less? Besides aren't you worried that other people are going to make fun of you for that name?”
“Nah, it's just a name. Hell, every DJ has a goofy name now. At least I'm not throwing random numbers into my name or nothing. I saw a poster for an MC the other day and you know what he called himself? Check this, he calls himself MC Freeze. Only instead of e's he used the number three. How are you supposed to pronounce something like that? I keep it simple. Donald's my name, so MC Donald. Besides, once kids hear my beats they forget all about Big Macs.”
Richard thought that if kids heard his beats they would forget about anything but trying to find a set of earplugs. They had been sitting in this van for over two hours and during that time MC Donald played some of what he called music, and what Richard thought was the sound of a speaker being tortured slowly. Maybe that was what kids now thought of as music and that his time was past. Richard was just hoping that Donald would not take the conversation as another opportunity to listen to his CD.
The van was Donald's so he did not want to say anything rude, except if he started playing that CD again he wasn't sure he could keep quiet about it.
“Goddamn, how much longer this guy gonna be?” Donald asked.
Richard was wondering the same thing. They had been sitting across the street from a strip club waiting for a guy to come out, and Richard thought that he and Donald may have already run out of conversation topics having already covered weather and music. The van was uncomfortable, with springs in the seat having nearly worn through the cheap material that covered them. Not to mention Donald was chain smoking one cigarette after another. The menthol flavored smoke was making Richard's eyes water but the smoke covered up other, less attractive smells in the vehicle.
“I don't know how much longer, hopefully soon.”
Uncomfortable silence and cigarette smoke filled the van.
“How'd you get involved with Marco?” Donald asked.
Richard sighed, while he and Donald did not share the same taste in music, what they did have in common was that they both owed Marco. He wasn't sure he really wanted to share his fall from grace with this young man with greasy cornrows and a foul smelling van.
“I needed a loan, times have been tough. You know, with the economy and all.” Richard said, hoping that would suffice.
Donald nodded his head. “Yeah. I know how that is. I needed some help too. You wouldn't believe how much it costs to produce a decent CD in a music studio.”
Silence filled the van again as Richard tried to wrap his mind around the fact that the guy next to him was in this situation because he borrowed money to produce that crap he had heard earlier in the night.
“So,” Donald said, “why'd you need the cash?”
“I needed it for everything.”
“Well, I hope it was worth killing for.”
Richard hoped it was as well, and tried to spend the awkward silence reflecting on the circumstances that had brought him to this point.
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Genre – Horror
Rating – PG13
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