Klaaben was walking a new route today, so he pulled out the list that one of the soldiers had given him. It listed the names of several businesses who needed to pay their keep to make sure any trouble was kept out of the way and didn't interrupt their trade. He folded the list and put it back in his pocket once he had scanned the names. As it happened the next joint wasn't far and he was enjoying the walk. It was good to be outside, especially because the warehouse life wasn't one that suited him - not enough sky and too much stale air. It made him ill just thinking about it. No, this was much better for him; walking into reputable neighborhoods and being treated with respect. He smiled to himself as he walked, this was the life. 

He knew he had been lucky in getting to where he was, and this wasn't half as far as he wanted to be, just the start if he played his cards right. Rumour had it that he had started running on the streets in the wake of a pretty big shake up in the business after an outfit from Staten Island and another out in Chicago had been forcibly removed. That was the business they were in, but on the plus side it meant lots of opportunity for an up and comer like him. As it turned out, it had been a good time to ditch the suit and tie for Klaaben, because after only a couple of weeks working on a corner, he heard talk about a new outfit needing some muscle. He'd started catching work for The Dragon Chasers in the Bronx almost right after and although it had taken some grunt work early on, easy jobs, roughing people up or working doors, that sort of thing, now he had been rewarded with this pretty nice protection racket for his efforts. It was great; all he had to do was make the collections and send the money upstairs. Simple. Anyone gave him any trouble beyond what he couldn't sort with his fists or a nice hefty bat, he reported back to one of the soldiers and then came by the next day to collect double. It was a great business to be in and business was booming.

"You're so salty bro!!" Came a shrill cry from across the street, spoiling his train of thought. Klaaben looked over and saw two wise guys standing a couple of feet apart bawling at each other. He couldn't tell what the altercation had started over, but he stopped to watch anyway hoping a punch up might break out.

"No man, I'm a tier 1 trollerino, don't you know?" Answered Salty Bro, his smug smile suggesting that meant something.

"Oh yeah? Well don't you know that I'm 303303, bitch?!" Said Shrill Voice, putting two hands on Salty Bro's chest and pushing him away. Salty didn't budge. 

"303303? What do you take me for, a fucking salt shaker? Next you'll be saying you're part of the GOAT Squad!" Salty Bro laughed to himself like this was hilarious. "Pull the other one man, if you wanna win...don't lose!!"

"Fuck you man, you fucking heard, you stupid salty bitch" Snapped Shrill Voice, neither amused nor impressed "French fries dick. Don't make me go to the FABULOUS HQ in Manhattan and make this into something, you salty motherfucker!" 

Klaaben watched in stunned silence as the confrontation continued. He couldn't understand any of the fucking gibberish these idiots were saying and guessed they must be out of their nut. Why was everything salty and why was that a bad thing? What on earth was the GOAT Squad? What was with all this numbers shit? Or the obvious statement? Or trollerino? Or? Or? It was starting to hurt his head just thinking about it, so he carried on his route and rubbed his temples. Maybe the next set of smackheads he met would try to rob him or set fire to themselves, which would probably make more sense.     

Hopefully this isn't the reason the man is now dead.....

If Klaaben was killed for what he said here...shame. Fucking shame. 

 I'd have to admit I chuckled a bit at this. Sad to see you're no longer living, I would of liked to tip.

Some truly inspiring words.

May the fleas of a thousand goats infest the crotch of the person who took your life.