Spicy viabrating, slightly edging up and down into his seat, looking out to the great openess  through his window as the sun beats down on his face - no breeze, no water or civilisation for miles - the road infront of him giving off a haze, the fervid heat immessurable. Twiddling his thumbs on a canteen that has certian marks and dents, seemingly very old looking - taking a few sips every few miles.

A sharp thud takes Spicy out of his miasma, a thundering voice comes from the front of the bus, "Three more hours until our destination - there's is only ONE gas station that we're gunna visit, ya'll hear? We'll be leaving in 20 minutes, so your either on or outta'luck," The conductor says taking off his cap, whiping himself down with a hankerchief, "Next bus is in two days, and we do NOT wait," turning around coughing, as takes out a match box with some rolled cigarettes from his pocket, walking out the bus as more people follow - "Psst," 

A quiet voice comes from a few seats behind him, everyone else has left - but these two people remain, "My names Joe," Joe takes himself one seat closer, extending his hand, Spicy accepts, "Don't worry, i'm no jay - i've been moving from city to city." Joe hocks some snot from his throat, building it up to his mouth and spits it on the bus floor, "I'm no hobo either 'kay?" Spicy becomming heavily uncomfortable, and confused why this man is talking to him, "Here, take this - take it to Los Charro, say Dirty Joe sent you, okay? D . I . R . T . Y - J . O . E" Joe says in a crazed and seemingly intoxicated fashion as he extends a paper bag towards Spicy - Spicy takes it as he just wants the conversation to end,

"LEAVING IN 3 MINUTES" 

Three gruling hours later, it was 11:33pm, sounds of chatter as the busy lights gave Spicy a giant reset to his last 12 hours that he spent, bent backwards and lips drier than a priest at a birthday party - he takes this yellowish paper bag and opens it, taking a peak inside. Everything falls on the floor - stunned by what he saw - paper starts to drop on the floor. What looks like $500-$1000 flying around in the smokey Los anglease wind, Spicy taking a second before adrenaline kicks in and he starts to grab all the dollar bills from the floor. 

Standing infront of the Los Charro building, a mexican themed resturant, buildings blocking both sides of the street, every other building seemingly filled with squatters, skips of garbage and fires, Spicy feels crazy - holding only a small bag on his shoulder with his canteen and one pair of pants, he doesn't understand why he thought he'd come to a neighbour hood at 3am as slum looking as this. Walking up to the only door without a board of wood nailed across, a chain linked fence connected to an alley-way. Holding only a bag only half the weight it started with, gulping and feeling nervous - he shakes the fence and calls out for someone.

"Hello?!" Spicy shouts, disconcerted spasms form from cheek to cheek as his brow lowers - colouring his usually tanned face a greyish hue, a sound of rustling and encouraged sounds follow through the alley, echoing, "Joe sent me, i-i don't know who joe is," Spicy stops a second, going through his jacket, taking out the yellow package, "But he said to bring you this - i haven't looked inside, i swear,"

"You swear'ay, do yer boy?" A cockney sounding voice croaks through behind him, "I'm notta' fan of swearin'," The subdued tone, calm and authoritive turns into a hefty laugh - as Spicy's shoulder is coated with this dusty, coated in dirt hand on him, " 'Ow about ya'gimmie that ray of sun'shine ther' lad?" Spicy looks to the left of him, over his shoulder - the detail and smell of this individual creates a stench unlike any other, with a flat cap and dirtied casual wear, holes in every part of his clothing, grinning with black teeth, Spicy moves to his right, looking towards the grimey old man,

"H-here," Spicy extends his arm, "What happens now?" Spicy asks, shuddering at the thought of him opening his mouth, releasing a dam of cigerates and what smells of fecal matter,

"Thatta' boy!" Snatching the package from his hand, "ow' about-cha follow me into my, Hum-ble Abode" taking his key out of his pocket, releasing the lock from the chain - taking Spicy through into the chain linked face - into a broken window - glass shards still encompassing the frame, climing in, "One step in, yer'gotcha baptism into a new life, an' it seems'ya 'ave me as yer saviour now ain' ya? Blessed be thy ..." Pausing, for a solid thirty seconds, staring at Spicy with a crazed look, it seems like he was execting this nervous wreck of a man to reply with his name, 

"Sp-spicy," He says, swollowing his throat, "Friends call me Spicy," 

"Name, see - wasn't 'ard now was'it - now - pick yer' self up and throw yerself into this beautiful buildin', behold 'er glory, Spicy pal."

Climbing through the broken window - the highly regarded shards of stuck glass elude cutting a 5" deep cut into Spicy's thighs. following through into the room - Spicy's leather shoes hit the floor, the seem to tap on wood, very fine wood, polished and well fitted, seeing nothing as the darkness surrounds him and his new friend, 

"Bit decivin' ain'it my tamale friend?" Giving off a hefty laugh, before expaseraiting, climbing through into the window following spicy, "My name ain' needed, ears are flappin' everywher' these days," Dusting himself off, he stands walking into the darkness to the left of him, "But'cha can't expect a man of my," The man starts to speak for a second in a posh london accent, "Stacture," Before resuming his usual compost breathed slang, "To live inn'a shit'hole now do'ya?"

A light switch is flicked - the light blinds the nervous spicy - taking a few moments for his eyes to adjust to this shiny new exterior; polished oak shelves surround him with leather bound books filling every space, a polished table with what seems to be cocaine already cut into lines with a couple of $50 bills surrounding it, a large dent in a leather sofa with womens panties seemingly followed down the sides, "S-so this is all yours? Huh?" Spicy says, scratching his beard, picking some of the spots underneath in an axious way,

"Mine? Nah'my Golden balloon wielding friend, you jus' paid an' stamped yer first month of rent," The man says with a grin on his side - walking over to the custom made bar with a range of selection of whiskey's and ale, "We've been watchin' you," Grabbing two small whiskey glasses with his grimey and blackened hands, then grabbing one of, what seems expensive, whiskey from the cabinet, unscrewing the lid, pouring a near full glass in both, "We've been waitin', an' yer've not disappointed us one bit my fello' scramp," Walking across the room with one hand extended with the other glass.

Spicy now feeling very uncomfortable, seeing this large room with a radio and expensive / luxurious objects around him, he carefully takes the drinks from the stranger with his other hand on his waist, "Watching me?" Spicy says carefully, "What's going on, I don't understand?" Spicy steps back towards the broken window as the stench only seems to stop outside, inside the fragrence of wood and lavender glances his nostrels,

"A-a-a, Sit down squire, lem'me give yer some loose change to celebrate our reunion, nephew."