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Вы здесь » SACRAMENTO » Альтернативная реальность » hell of a ride

hell of a ride

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https://i.imgur.com/sCMkd4P.jpg https://i.imgur.com/iu1vUzd.jpg
Billy - fucking - Boyle | Dick - fucking - Boyle
Sacramento '22

I guess it is only now that I realise I have a son
and there are duties in this life beyond, well, breathing
so do forgive me if I can't do this without a gallon of beer.

[nick]Dick Boyle[/nick][icon]https://i.imgur.com/msl8t2L.jpg[/icon][status]batya goda[/status][sign]oh for fuck's sake.[/sign][lz1]ДИК БОЙЛ, 54 <sup>y.o.</sup><br><b>profession:</b> бас-гитарист, алкоголик, экс-гонщик. <br><b>relations:</b> <a href="https://sacramentolife.ru/profile.php?id=8548">moy pezdyuk</a>[/lz1]

Отредактировано Tadhg Kennelly (2022-09-29 21:20:59)



[nick]Billy Boyle[/nick][lz1]БИЛЛИ БОЙЛ, 16 <sup>y.o.</sup><br><b>profession:</b> школьник<br><b>relations:</b> <a href="https://sacramentolife.ru/profile.php?id=8665">stupid ass</a>[/lz1][icon]https://i.ibb.co/QmZqjwn/tumblr-9432e04c41457107a8a2a369b8849865-21ed20da-1280.png[/icon][status]personal fucking space[/status]

- At least you are moving to California, right? No need in this jacket, huh? - Chris said with a sad but cheering voice while giving the last tight hug in this year. Last hug? Seriously? It feels so freaking wrong, he is like a brother to Billy, the strongest support he has besides auntie Suzie and a couple more friends here, in NY.

- Yeah, no shit. - Answered Boyle in a muffled voice and turned his head away from the friend. He needed a minute to not blow up. Again. - I prefer Brooklyn, u know (he knows)(everyone knows). This is ridiculous! I need to leave school right in the middle of the year. I can fucking cook for myself, I have money saved and place to live, I'm capable of taking care of myself, whattafuck. "You are not 18 yet", - his fingers are drawing quotation signs in the air while he is rolling his eyes, - they say, blah... blah.... BLAH. - He laughed abruptly and nervously touched a zipper on his jacket.
His anger was coming from the bottom and was growing too fast until finally it stuck in his throat, blocking all nasty words he has inside. Billy couldn't accept his own miserable, pathetic and unfair destiny.

Life fucking sucks.
He has no power or control on his own path.
That's so freaking shitty.
On top of his mother's death.
It happened just a month ago and everyone kept saying "it gets better". Fuck them and their lie.
It will never be the same.

Fingers transformed into fists and the only desire he had was to punch the window to his left. It was the window's problem, sure.

- Stupid jokes are played sometimes by this stupid thing called life. Damn it, bruh. - Last hug, Billy promises to himself to take a step into the airport after one more fucking hug. - You'll make it work and you'll be back in a year and half. - He is grabbing Chris's coat and nodding when hears a quite whisper: "love u bro". Billy glancing from the door to his friend and then to the door again. It was time to go, but..

It is so hard to say goodbye.
It is always so painful but boys don't cry. Even if it feels like somebody is cutting his hand off.
He is strong. Is he tho?

The flight is long as fuck. Almost five hours and no snacks or movies are included. His main entertainment was looking at the clouds, listening to music and dying from amount of thoughts in his head.
Billy had no clue if he was extraordinary or ordinary extra but the question "WHY ME?" was on repeat the whole flight, sometimes changing to "why her? why exactly his mom?".

Sacramento looked basic with lots of cars and definitely less people. The air was warm and the jacket now was peacefully laying next to him on the sit of the Uber. Billy is rolling down the window to smell....well, gas and trash. Big city life in the capital of California doesn't look exciting or thrilling at all. It looks like torture.

sup bruh? r u there yet?  https://i.imgur.com/GxD0lxP.png 4:16pm

5m away
fucking trash https://i.imgur.com/VfJUHBC.png 4:17pm

The house is decent, definitely more yard space and the grass is not that green as he used to see.
- Drought. California is in a drought, - Billy says to himself, - Not a lazy ass. Calm down.

The door is open, and leading the way with his luggage, he is going across the doorway, finally entering to something he is gonna call HOME (or prison).

- Hey peace of shit, - stays in mind.
- Hey dad, - comes out loud in the silence. Not a big fucking surprise. What was he expecting? A meal on the table and a cake with candles for all those b-day his dad didn't even give a call? Just a short text: Happy birthday son.
Oh, fuck you - in mind;
Thanks https://i.imgur.com/gAeQAKC.png - in reality.

Reality sucked and was full of shit. Just like his dad.

- I'm here, - couple steps forward, straight to the kitchen, - If you care, of course.

Отредактировано Chase Parker (2022-09-25 04:35:36)



A big lump of paternal meat was waiting for its offspring, asleep, head on the kitchen table, body on the sofa's outskirts, prepared to fall off them as soon as the surprise hit the numbed mind. Until then, Dick was well sedated by the two empty bottles of superb Scottish whiskey, easily found on the floor even by the untrained eye. What actually replied to Billy's greetings was a long, creaky snore which came in three ascending waves before ending abruptly. Dick winced in his sleep as if he felt the presence of his son, but that was merely a vision of the deceased mother, telling him such a pathetic husband could never make a good enough father. He never cared to disagree, for having a child was her idea and she did earn twice as much as he used to, so according to Dick, he'd already done all the work necessary. They didn't make it to signing the divorce papers despite the fact that she chose career opportunities in New York instead of staying at their cosy little house in California.

Dick was a simple man and a simpler organ, who gladly picked decaying in their old house over competing with a thousand other musicians in a new city. Parts of Sacramento still had this hillbilly, redneck vibe that fit Dick's style perfectly, and he couldn't bring himself to trading that with the opportunity of raising a son. Somehow, Billy's departure to Brooklyn with his mom was never questioned - he chose her himself, and the father didn't argue despite a sting of sudden jealousy. Fortunately, he washed it off the same day they left with a pint of Guinness. Or two pints. Or three, or indeed thirteen. Dick never counted, and just like that he hadn't counted today was the day of Billy's arrival. He knew it was supposed to be today, but he didn't know today was already today. Another couple waves of an especially rusty snore slowly woke him up to an image of his son materialised in the kitchen. His brain took longer to switch on than sight, so he looked at Billy with a blank expression, blinked a few times, lowered his eyes to find the bottles peacefully laying on the ground, then returned his gaze to the boy, then glanced at the forgotten calendar and realised everything.

- Oh shit, - muttered Dick before rising up in quiet panic. This wasn't the first time a profanity slipped his mouth in front of Billy, but this was the first time he cared to notice that, - Sorry kid, I mean... uh whatever, you've grown so much, - because kids know bullshit when they hear it, - I thought you were coming tomorrow. Like, I was certain tomorrow is today and today is yesterday, and... alright, yeah, anyway.
Dick was about to add Billy was never supposed to see the bottles, but somehow the idea of admitting that out loud brought so much shame to his throat that he decided to swallow all of it, shook his head in an attempt to bring some sense into it and finally approached the teenager with an awkward hug. Dick had one of those "I'd rather appear an emotional cripple than a faggot" hugs, so it didn't last long. He distanced himself, scratched the back of his head and thirstily eyed a carafe full of still water. That's when he remembered what he had in mind when he still had his mind.
- I got you a present for our, um, reunion. That thing you use in our messages. Yellow and round with glasses on. I saw it on a mug and thought of you, - a small cardboard box was sitting in front of the bulky old-school TV, and inside it was that very mug, - Here.

Dick wasn't feelings-smart, but it felt wrong, all of it. Between them grew a void of unspoken words and unshared years; truthfully, all they had in common now was the loss. A silly one, too. Nora was far too young to live in a grave, and Billy was too good to be left motherless. Not that the universe ever accounted for such details.
- How are you coping son? - a question he couldn't even answer himself.
Summer entered their kitchen through the window, reflecting on the bottles' glass with her sun-rays' sadness. The supposedly vibrant morning was getting bleaker and bleaker. Dick attempted a comforting smile but the muscles responsible for one stiffened on the go.

[nick]Dick Boyle[/nick][status]batya goda[/status][icon]https://i.imgur.com/msl8t2L.jpg[/icon][sign]oh for fuck's sake.[/sign][lz1]ДИК БОЙЛ, 54 <sup>y.o.</sup><br><b>profession:</b> бас-гитарист, алкоголик, экс-гонщик. <br><b>relations:</b> <a href="https://sacramentolife.ru/profile.php?id=8548">moy pezdyuk</a>[/lz1]

Отредактировано Tadhg Kennelly (2022-09-28 04:03:23)


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