“Will you find Melvin?” “Hell no. I’m not a detective, bitch. Besides I’d rather eat pig turds," he said. “I’ll pay you. I’ll give you $125.00," she said. “And fuck me too? Girl, you’re hella fly," he said. “I’ll allow you to tongue my pussy," she said. “Come in your cunt, girl. I wish to go all the way," Mark said. “All right," Claudia said. “And your sister and mother too," he said. “Okay,” she said. “For sure,” he said. Mark Jones sat inside a bar known as Larry’s Blue Bar. The bartender, Larry Zenos, was obviously a former NBA player. He kept bring him Manhattan’s and he drank them. Zenos was awesome, but he always looked high. A third-rate rapper, rapped about his awful life in Compton, CA. The bartender started weeping. The bum at the other end of the bar, smoking crack, pissed his pants, sobbed too. The lesbians smoked dope and cried too. Then the rapper began crying. The walls had graffiti, counter was gritty, tables were funky, floors were soaked with tears and chairs were awful. The place smelled like sweat, marijuana, crack and hog farts. Jones came here when he was depressed. A Mexican took his dishwasher employment because he got caught smoking marijuana while washing pots and pans. Before he left he throw a big pot at the Mexican and the supervisor. An Italian bitch sat down next to him. She looked incurably sad. She smelled like bug spray. She had blond freakish hair, big tits and ass. She was pulling on a joint. “Hello, mister. My name is Huda Ciccone,” she said. “Hiya. I’m Mark Jones. I used to be a dishwasher until some Mexican took my employment,” he said. “Don’t hate on the Mexicans," she stated. “I was just smoking a little dope. But I did tell my boss to suck my dick," he said. “You’re just too fucking lazy," she said. “That too," he said. The bartender delivered her a glass with pink shit. A sizable rat ran across the counter, big enough to ride. The rapper was singing an Ice Cube song. He sounded terrible. He slurred his words because he was incredibly drunk. A number of the words were completely wrong. His bands hip-hop beats were off key. He kept falling off the stage, but got back up. This bar was designed to perform blues, not rap. Mrs. Ciccone talked about her two felines arrested for stealing laptops and clothing from neighbor’s