by daddeme 6/24/2012, 1:32 am
I walk down the slippery street with my hood up, rain beating down on me like icy whips. I turn the corner and start to head down the block to the boarded up shack owned by Marty Gords, street fighter. Yeah, that's his title. I open up the creaky door and go downstairs to the basement. I hear people shouting, glasses clanking, gloves meeting. I reach the base of the stairs and pull my hood off. Everyone goes quiet when they see my face. That's the welcome you get when you're an undefeated rookie. I sigh and go towards the home-bar. "Usual." The tender of the day slides me a Powerade and glares at me. I sneer and open my drink, taking a sip. I don't drink. I don't smoke or do drugs like the others down here. I'm just Jacin and this is just my job. Come here, fight, and leave with my hundred if I win. I watch two guys beat the snot out of eachother. The clock rings and I'm up. I set my drink down and take off my hoodie revealing a black wifebeater. I step into the ring and slip in my mouth guard. A man clearly in his twenties and on steroids and meth enters the ring on all blue. Gang member. The clock rings and the man attacks, swinging and kicking and smashing and slashing. I dodge every try with ease, then come at him hard. Two jabs to the jaw, a left hook, and a right upper cut. He starts coming stronger. I hear a snap and feel the blood running from my nose. I start coming faster, harder, stronger. Soon, the guy is down for the count and my arm is raised in the air. Marty hands me a solid hundred and tells me two more fights are coming. I nod once and fight my way through the night. I leave later the next day at noon, collecting around six hundred bucks. I come back the next day and go to the bar. "Usual again." I drink my Gatorade and look around. This all is illegal.