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Being Eaten Alive On The Job
When Your Job Sucks: A Quarter Hour As A Pimp Collecting Drug Money
Lazarus is a tall heavily built black man who runs a string of hookers for high end guys and sells quality weed and powder cocaine to the customers as well. He decided to branch out into wholesaling a little. He used a gun for home defense but did not pack one on him. A retailer of his, in an area of the city bordering the suburbs, where there were more vacant houses than occupied lots, was in need of a pep talk on cooperation, timely payments, and other such aspects of team play. Lazarus liked to handle things with a light touch.
#10-02: day, minutes, first-person defender
Lazarus decided to walk past the building, doing a circuit of the row to ascertain the situation, before approaching the front door. He was walking past an adjacent rundown rental property when he was attacked by a pit bull. The thing leaped for his throat and he presented his left forearm, which was seized between two vice-like rows of teeth.
What surprised him was that the dog, at perhaps a quarter of his weight, was able to drag him around. It quickly wrestled him to the ground. The dog’s grip slid down from the forearm, leaving it half-skinned, to the hand, and would not let go. As the dog literally ate his left hand the big man methodically broke the dog’s legs with his right hand. This took a few minutes by his estimation, “the length of a song.”
With four broken legs, the dog doggedly hung on—PETA forgive me, but I had to—but was no longer able to drag or even tug on Lazarus’ arm. The dog kept eating though. It took Lazarus another few minutes to drag the twisting munching critter across the overgrown lot, both of them prone, as the dog would curl and roll around his hand when he tried to rise. He managed to drag himself and the dog within reach of a two-by-four, which he used to beat the dog, flattening out the base of its skull and then breaking the back of the neck, not all too concerned about smashing his half-eaten left hand along with its head.
The dog died anticlimactically and released his hand. He had been afraid that he would have to smash the snout to get his hand out, but the pit bull did not maintain the death grip he had feared.
Lazarus lost the two small fingers of the left hand, and 20 years later is still pimping and dealing weed, recently taking a trip oversees to procure some choice seed for his grower.
10:04 in the morning and I have cop cruisers roaring down the street.
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