“My man,” I said as I got into the idling car.
“What’s up, Sixx?” Matt Good asked.
“Same old bulls***,” I said lighting up a ‘cancer stick’ as Holly liked to call them. Something she had in common with my parents.
“Have you been taking me advice?” Matt questioned from behind the wheel.
“Yeah, I got her to open up to me a little bit the other day. Who knew she had a f***** up childhood,” I asked rhetorically tapping my cigarette against the open car window.
“That’s progress. Maybe you should do the same,” he suggested pulling into the bar parking lot. Who knew Little Rock had bars.
I nodded my head, but the conversation was lost after we walked through the doors of the small bar. I wasn’t legally allowed to drink, but that didn’t stop Matt from buying my drinks for me.
We swapped interesting meet and greet stories over a few drinks so get warmed up. Then we started talking about Matt and his girlfriend. Apparently his mother and girlfriend had shared a bed one night and talked about him until he came back from a night of drinking and gambling. He punched me when I asked him if anything kinky had happened.
I was still laughing about that when a couple of d***heads walked through the door. They looked to be of college age and the type of dip s**** I would never in a million years hang out with in school. And of course the pair tools had to pick Matt and I to f*** with.
“Look, Marcus, there’s a couple of fags enjoying a drink,” the blonde on wearing an Aeropostale polo sneered.
I clapped from my perch on the old barstool. “Very original.”
“Ah, look, Ronnie, the emo fag has guts,” Marcus mocked.
I felt my face slip. I couldn’t keep my non-caring façade up any longer. Those d**** were really starting to p*** me off.
“Calm down, Sixx. They are just a couple of pricks trying to get a rise out of us. We all know you aren’t gay or emo,” Matt said patting my shoulder in an attempt to calm me down.
I opened my mouth to agree with him when Ronnie cut me off. “Ahw, it’s so cute how grungy fag is comforting the emo fag.”
“Listen here, a**hat, you are barking up the wrong tree. I’m Andy F****** Sixx,” I said standing up to show off my six-foot-two frame.
“Oh, I’m shaking in my loafers.” Ronnie mocked, pantomiming fear.
Something deep in my psyche just snapped and let go. I hurled myself at the obvious trust fund baby and began pounding the s*** out of him. Marcus decided to help him out, but neither dip s*** could fight worth a s*** so I was basically pounding the f*** out of them both until I heard sirens.