"I always wanted to be... gangster," you think to yourself as you try to sleep on the bed Damien provided in his low-class apartment, in a low-class town. Just the thought of being here frightens you, just a bit, but you try to sleep anyway.
You're mildly conflicted about all of this, you wonder as you try to rest; on one hand, this is scary. You don't know what is going to happen, but on the other hand, you could become the kind of a person you've always secretly wanted to be:
A thug.
A wigger.
A gangster.
But could you actually become these things?
You hope, deep down, that Damien can make it all work out. You want it, but at the same time, you don't.
Finally, you fall asleep.
-
You awake to the sound of loud rap music. To be honest, you've never really liked rap music, but you've never not liked it either. You've never had a chance to give it a chance.
You try listening to it, but the rapper is rapping too fast for you to keep up.
You try to ignore it when Damien steps into the room, holding some clothes.
"yo," he says.
Now that it's daylight, you can get a good look at Damien.
He's decently tall, hair so short, he's almost bald, and he has a perfectly square chin-strap on his perfectly square jaw. A diamond stud in each ear shiny enough to blind, if the light hit them right.
He's wearing a white-beater, and you notice his tattoos; he is covered from his hands up to his neck in ink. You remember someone once describing people like this as "looking like a coloring book" and Damien kinda fits that, you think. Of course, no one would ever say that to his face; Damien is rather muscular to boot.
A shiny silver chain is around his neck, and you had always wanted to wear a chain just like that one, but you never did, or could, really.
He has metallic black denim jeans on, and a pair of white... Nikes, maybe? You aren't sure, but they match his white-beater.
You find yourself somewhat jealous of this hood beast. You had always wanted to be this kind of person, but you just... never were.
"ay, dude, u awake, wuts good mayne?" says Damien as he extends one hand to you. He's probably looking for one of those gangster hand-shakes, but you don't know any.
"Hello," you say, not making eye-contact.
"yo, u gonna hafta do better than dat mayne. im tryna make u into a thug, boy. u gonna get like me, haha," he says.
"I'm no thug," you tell him.
"we gonna see about that," he says, and he holds up the clothes he was holding.
"we gonna start small an work up, ya digg?" he says, as he throws the clothes at you.
"i be back," he says as he leaves the room.
You pick the clothes up off the floor and inspect what you've been given by your new wigger master.
A white-beater a size too large, a pair of boxers, and a pair of shiny, black basketball shorts. As you hold the shorts, you notice how smooth and silky they are.
You feel a quickening of your heart.
This is it; this is real. You might finally get to be the thug you always wanted.
You hastily take off whatever other clothes you were wearing, put on the boxers, then the beater, and the finally the shorts.
"Oh wow, that feels nice," you think to yourself as you put them on. You walk a bit in them and feel the swish-swish of the shorts going back and forth as you walk around the room.
You notice a mirror in the room, and inspect yourself.
You raise your mouth to cover your face.
You don't look like a thug at all; you look more like you are wearing a halloween costume, or like a kid who wants to dress like his dad.
You're very skinny, and that's a reason why you look so... mismatched to your clothing.
But maybe Damien will help you with that.
You keep walking around the room, enjoying the silky feeling of the basketball shorts, when Damien returns.
"yo," he says.