When you wake up to find your boy-meat’s returned from a late-night upload that he didn’t bother telling you about: Theo and Ernie sit side by side on the floor in the darkness, leaning against the side of Theo’s bed. Ernie has a black eye, a cut on his forehead, and is possibly missing a tooth; Theo’s sulking up a storm, arms folded, chin tucked against his chest, a broken Asia CD in his lap.
I climb out of bed, sit on the floor beside him, waiting for an explanation.
“I can’t believe that dude beat the shit out of a couple of kids,” Ernie says after a few minutes.
Theo continues to sulk.
“That’s child abuse, you know. We should so call the police and tell them he tried to touch our dicks.”
Theo sulks some more.
“Too bad it was just a lame-ass mixtape. I really thought we’d found El Cassetto, bruh.”
“You owe me fifty dollars,” Theo murmurs, “and a new Asia CD.”