Dear Homeless Dude,
Why do you always ask me for 43 cents? I just don’t get it. It’s so damn specific. If I gave you two quarters, would you give me change back? If I only had 41 cents, would you throw it back in my face and say, “Naw man, I said 43 cents”?
Help me understand bruh bruh.
I’ve seen you for months now. Almost everyday. We have developed a somewhat shaky relationship. You call me “big man” and I call you “homie”. We even shake hands sometimes (even though it kind of makes me feel gross inside. Not going to lie to you homie. We cool like that now.)
Shit, once you even kissed my cheek. You remember that? I do. I’ll remember that forever. It was the first time I told you to back the fuck up. It was a bonding moment. And it is etched into my psyche. It is stitched to a dark place inside me that can not be washed away.
Fuck homie, why did you have to kiss my cheek?
Never mind that for now, what really concerns me is your need for 43 cents. Exactly 43 cents. To this day, I have yet to give you any money but I’m leaving this gorgeous neighborhood soon and I need to know before i’m splitsville.
This is a mystery that must be solved. I’ve made my guess’s. I’ve done the math.
Tell me homie, do you plan to take that 43 cents and buy 2 fig newtons? Is it for 1/4 of a Baby Ruth and 18 lightly salted peanuts? 4 swigs off of someone else’s beer? One flip flop? Are you trying to rent a Mesh Shirt and a Live Strong bracelet for an hour?
Tell me, God damn it, Tell me.
1 Star! (until the who-done-it is solved…)