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stuck out of his striped shirt. I could tell he already shaved. Wiry, black hair covered his vast white stomach. He wore a big black leather jacket with lots of shiny silver buckles on it. The arms were too short and I questioned the physics required to zip it over his gut. He kept his black hair in a very retro crew cut.
    I stood there, quivering with fear, watching Mary Lou talk to him, rubbing those breasts all over his arm. She was rather coy about it, throwing her arms into some sort of gesticulation, moving in to ever so slightly swipe Swarth with her chest. For treatment like that, I would have beat the hell out of me if I were Bucky Swarth. He tried to push her away, but she just kept rubbing herself all over him. I’m sure his leather-clad arm was numb to those stabbing, excited nipples. Boy, she was really mad. I heard her caterwauling from over where I was.
    Apparently, she finally said something to catch his attention and shove his bloodlust into action. I was guessing she probably promised him anal sex without a condom or some fuckness like that. He leaned over to her and kissed her for a few seconds, massaging one of her breasts with a meaty hand. They broke up and he kind of pointed at me, mumbling something. Confirming her accusations, I guess. And then he was on his way over, throwing down his cigarette and aiming that big blobby head right at me. His gang followed him, their chests all pumped up. They all looked like they had tits and if they weren’t capable of inflicting such physical harm, I would have found the situation too absurd to take seriously. I imagined Pearlbottom sending a note home stating that I’d been whapped to death by bosoms.
    There I was, standing frozen by the fence, shaking even more violently by that point. Bucky came over and just stood there, staring at me. Hate boiled in those eyes, but it was real unspecific hate. Like he looked at everyone like that and I was no one special. That look was what made me most afraid. It was a zombiefied look that said there must be some form of altercation, some end, and there wasn’t going to be a shred of mercy in that conclusion.
    “ You wanna start some shit?” he said and spit onto the ground.
    I was going to tell him about the deal and how the fucking blob bag had copped out on everything and then figured, why bother? Fuck it.
    “ No,” I said instead.
    “ My girl over there says you raped her good.”
    “ That’s not true.”
    I knew there was no way I could talk myself out of it. I had trouble talking anyway and, being nervous and all, I could just forget it. My throat felt constricted. If I started talking, I’d just end up twittering like a girl hopped up on diet pills.
    “ You callin er a liar?”
    “ No.”
    “ Then you must be callin me a liar. You think I’m a liar, you fuckin molester piece of trash shit?” Whenever he said “liar” it sounded more like “lar.”
    I knew the beating was coming and I could tell it was going to be real good and humiliating so I did something I didn’t expect. I spit in the fat blobfuck’s face. I did. I hawked a real thick one that felt like it sucked everything out of my brain and I aimed right in the middle of his sizable head, rolling my tongue around the mucous like a fleshy gun barrel. The glob hit him with surprising accuracy and hung there on the end of his puggy, piggish nose.
    His gang collectively winced, “Oooh.”
    Bucky tried to wipe the glob off real cool, but it hung there on the end of his fingers. He tried to flick it off with his thumb but the goober steadfastly latched onto that. He wildly flapped his arm but it just swung up and stuck onto the back of his hand. He bent down and wiped it on the damp grass, exposing an expansive backside the color of Swiss cheese. I was certain that he had a forest of ass hair.
    “ You’re dead.”
    He stood up and shoved me back into the rusty fence.
    I sprang forward and took a wild swing, completely missing him and throwing