Читать книгу War/Peace - Matthew Vandenberg - Страница 3

'I hate this.' - I look around and then shrug – 'Not really. I feel good. But I also feel like an arrogant prick. I'll praise someone and people will think I'm being sarcastic: I'll call someone else a prick and they'll take me seriously. I'm yet to master the art of communicating to fellow students. But I'm a bright spark and my bling speaks volumes.' - I flick a gold chain with a naked nail, then I slide the nail down the chain as though it's a pick and my bling the strings of a sexy guitar: the nail the sexy, smooth body of a femme fatale. Needless to say the sound is music to my ears. - 'So, yeah, I'm a little dressed up. Yeah, I'm wearing my brass knuckles, gold chains, and necklaces, more bling than Fiddy. And, yeah, this is a little over the top for a fuckin' class at high school, but I play ball like Bieber and it's game on.

'I don't know.' - I shake my head – 'It's hard to describe the vibe I get when I step into the room and their eyes are wet, it's like I make a bitch cum as I sigh and stare, It's like I make a bitch numb just by standing there, but it's the weight of my fame not the silent stare, if you wanna get laid just demand a fare. Ha ha! This is sooooo fuckin' sweet. Ok: so it's the first day back at school after my first night workin' at Kings. That's the deal. That's why I'm in such a good mood. You can say all you like about those with low self-esteem becoming sex-workers, and you'll probably have a point. Though, in my case, the job was a remedy as much as a resort. One day you receive an e-mail from a job search site: it alerts you of a job opportunity in Sydney's black spot and stimulates the g-spot in your mind and suddenly you feel you have self worth, suddenly you feel as though somebody somewhere might actually like you as something more than a friend, might need you, just as much as you her. It's a damn good feeling.

'Look, I'll be honest. It's not always glamorous. But . . .' - I nod. - 'Sorry. I'm talking in class. I'll fill you in later: right now I gotta listen and try and not let this shit rush to my head and make me cocky, faster than blood to my . . .'

******

References

1 P.I.M.P. - 50 Cent