DeeJay and I was jus’ hangin’ out last night, kickin’ back, havin’ a Mountain Dew, when this dude walked up on us all strapped en shit. He wasn’t even lookin’ at me or Russell—jus’ had eyes on DeeJay.
Russell’s like, “Oh shit, dude,” and starts to book. Then DeeJay en me roll out and pop, pop, pop! My neck is killin’ me, yo. I hope dis shit I got the prescription for take the edge off.
[ Joey is wearing a hospital smock and pajama bottoms and has no shoes as he stands in line at the CVS pharmacy with his script. He is 17, has curly hair and a light tan, and has a bullet wound in the back left side of his neck, where the round grazed his cervical vertebrae, and tore through the muscle, exiting before it hit the artery taking blood to his tiny pea brain. He is stiff, his speech stilted and in pain as he paces from side-to-side, slowly.]
I don’ even know what this shit was about—was jus’ hangin’ wit da dude when this man stepped to us. Old Dennis came lookin.’ He was ready to go off, looking to throw down. But the dude had already rolled—walk up, pop, en go, jus’ like that.
