I was sitting shotgun in the cab of Anthony Chung’s black Toyota pick-up truck. We were in the parking lot of the dorms at Central Washington University. We sat together in the truck as it idled. Anthony turned and spoke to me,

 “You sure you want to go back to your dorm room, Flowseph? You’re hella faded, you can crash at my pad.”

 “Nah homie, I’m good. I’m about to head straight to my room and curb out.”

 “Aight. Try not to run into any RA’s or Campus Police.”

 “For sure. I’ll holler at you tommorow.”

 We exchanged daps and I hopped out of the cab. It was a cold fall night in Ellensburg, Washington. I was wearing a black Polo Ralph Lauren sports jacket over a vintage Tommy Hilfiger black and white striped polo shirt and Brooks Brothers khakis with a sag – the front cuffs tucked behind the tongues of my all black Timberland EuroHikers. I topped this off with a black sweatband with a white Air Jordan logo, the faux diamond earrings in both of my ears hanging out from underneath. Years of listening to hardcore Gangsta Rap mixed with growing up in the Seattle public school system had warped my sense of self. I thought I was some kind of a gangster.

 I walked through the deserted parking lot back to my dorm. I sniffled. Cocaine was dripping from my nose down into the back of my throat. It tasted like gasoline. I sucked in through my nose and spit out a massive loogie. My breath tasted like cheap wine.

 “You got this.” I said out loud.

 The front rec-room/lobby was painfully bright with fluorescent light. A group of boys sat by the foosball table eating pizza out of the box. They all were dressed like 1999 had never happened. Cargo shorts and sandals. Puka shell necklaces. Abercrombie t-shirts printed with sexual puns styled like vintage advertisements. They were from places like Yakima, Spokane, or the Tri-Cities. Bumfuck nowhere. I knew them all vaguely.

 “What a bunch of lames.” I thought to myself.

 I knew one of them from orientation and from around the dorm. I guess he was their leader. I’m pretty sure his goal in life was to be the most cliché ” College dude” ever. He’d tried to give himself the nickname “BMOC” during the first week of school. Big Man On Campus, yeah, right.

He had definitely watched every single American Pie movie in existence way too many times, as well as a healthy dose of direct to video National Lampoon movies. It’d had a detrimental affect on his already dismal personality. He looked up at me and held out the pizza box.

 “Hey Paul Wall, you want a slice of pizza?”

 They all laughed at his joke.

 The cocaine had worn off, and now I was just drunk. Really drunk. Pizza sounded amazing.

 “Yeah, I’d love a slice. Thanks homie.”

 In my inebriated state I had failed to see the set-up. After I’d eaten the slice, BMOC said to me,

 “We all put up money on that pizza, and you just walk in here and try and freeload on us?”

 They all laughed again.

 “What are you talking about dude? You just offered me a slice of pizza.”

 “Nah, you just came up and started eating some pizza you didn’t pay for, you fucking fairy.”

 The east-of-the-mountains set was convinced I was a homosexual because I wore Burberry raincoats and had a fake Louis Vuitton wallet. They had been trying to spread rumors about me being a gay dude. I knew this because one of the girls I was sleeping with at the time had told me so.

 “You’re tripping on a slice of pizza?”

 “Yeah I’m “tripping” on a slice of pizza.”

 I took a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet and crumpled it into a ball.

 “Money is paper, and paper grows on trees, BITCH.”

 I flicked the wadded-up twenty at his face. It bounced off his forehead.

 “That’s it! You asked for it now FAG!”

 He ran towards me and threw a punch. I ducked the punch and tackled him at the waist. I took him to the ground and straddled him with one hand holding him by his shirt, the other hand punching him in his face.

 “Whatsup nigga?! Who’s the BMOC now, bitch!” I said between punches.

 Someone came up behind me and I turned and punched the guy in the face.

 Big mistake. It was an RA. The douchiest RA there was to boot. I instantly realized my error. Blood gushed from the RA’s nose. The sight of the blood had a sobering effect on me. I quickly got up and off BMOC. I even helped him up off the ground.

 The RA addressed us, his head tilted back as he pinched the bridge of his nose to stem the flow of blood.

 “I want everyone to go back to their rooms right now! I’m not mad at anybody, no one is in trouble. We’ll all have a meeting about it tomorrow!”

 “Yo, my bad, dude. I’m hella sorry. I thought you were some dude trying to jump me.”

 “We’ll talk about it tommorow Joe, go to your room.”

 We all went to our dorm rooms. I fell asleep pretty fast but I was quickly awakened when my door came crashing in. Two campus police jumped on top of me in the bed. There were two more cops in the hallway. I struggled, mostly because I wasn’t quite sure what was happening. They had kicked in my door and jumped on me with no warning.


 One of the cops tased me. I stopped resisting.


 “I’M NOT…”

 The cop tased me again.


 He tased me a final time before securing my arms behind my back with zip-ties.

 I should have stayed at Anthony’s.



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