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Lucky Charms

    Okay, there's this guy Lucky, see, and he's a short Irish dude with a temper as hot as the mean streets of the city that he's walkin', growling to himself in a clipped brogue, worried about bein' clipped himself and left in the gritty gutter. He's got the something that all the kids are hot for nowadays, and the Rabbit's been all over his ass lookin' for pretty much the same thing.

    "Always after me lucky charms" he mutters to himself, careful that his words aren't loud enough to be heard by the creeps hangin' out, bumping into him, or whoever the hell might be listenin' out the doorways.

    Everybody's outside cuzza the Santa Ana's been blowin' for godawmost a week now, gangstas are throwin' dice or pennies or some shit, hustlin' and bustlin' on the streets. The good ol' Irish cops all probably safe at the damn donut shop, ain't never around when ya need one. Prob'ly bust his balls and take all the lucky charms. Shoulda learned with what happened with the pot o' gold...

    Lucky's been wearing the same green suit for just about as long as he can remember, which is just about the day before yesterday it seems what with all the shit that's gone down lately. Lucky-- lucky he ain't a green stain on the bottom of somebody's shoe the way things have been goin'. And it's way too hot to be wearin' a coat. Lucky finds a mom & pop Korean grocery store that ain't already been burnt out and dives inside.

    "You gotta bat'room?" he snarls at the little brown man behind the counter. Little guy blinks and starts to babble some sing-song; Lucky's in a hurry. He's already found a sign that says Men and slams through the door the sign's stuck to.

    Inside, a tiny room is crammed full of one toilet and a sink. It's small, but it's clean. Lucky splashes some water on his face and puts the lid down on the toilet, seats himself on it like a toadstool. He reaches into his coat and pulls out an enormous rectangular box. This box has got drawings all over it of different shapes; hearts, moons, stars and all kinds of weird shit. Lucky grits his teeth and stares into the wall. Furious, he looks back at the box again and man, if looks could kill, his would ignite that whole box, Poof!

    He can't remember how he got into this mess, it seems like he's been runnin' for ever. And whenever he's about to get away Scot-free, they're right there waiting, like they already know what he's gonna do. Make a presto-magic plane to fly away on and they'll shoot that fucker right outta the sky. Lucky-- yeah, lucky he's still alive. And sweatin' bullets in some damn rinky-dinky shithole, lost and wonderin' what the hell's he supposed to do next. He glares at the box again.

    "Frosted oat cereal my ass," he mutters. Probably loaded all up with angel dust or crack or some shit the way these boys want it so bad. He knew there was more to it than that, too. These pictures on the outside... someone once told him what an orange star and yellow moon meant, but this box had a blue moon. And a red balloon. And a purple horseshoe. What sort of psycho acid-head made this up? Probably some sick devil-worship crap.

    Ah, well. Can't hide in the bathroom forever. Lucky wets his face one more time and dries off with a gas-station brown paper towel. Wads it up in one hand and drops it in the little bucket under the sink. He puts his coat back on and shoves the devil-box back in under his arm. Ready to go again, like a machine gun would be less noticeable than the bulge this box makes inside his coat. Be a lot more useful, anyway.

    As he walks out the little brown Korean guy just looks. Not every day you see a short Irish dude in a green suit hidin' a package under his coat. Go ahead, call the cops-- betcha they're down at the damn donut shop. Still. Besides, he's outta here in like a second and a half. Already gone, man.

    He hits the street and the sunlight hits him right back. Like walkin' into a furnace. "I know--" he muttered to himself. "I'll turn into a furnace and burn their damn eyebrows off!" A few steps later, "Or turn into a fuckin' cereal bowl! That's what ya do with lucky charms!" He cackles a sharp laugh and walks fast, bumpin' into people; nobody moves outta the way for a lunatic wearing a green suit in this neighborhood. Walkin', walkin'...

    He comes to a side street- "I know, I'll turn into an alley--" and ducks into it, walking whoops straight into a gun shoved in his face (his face only bein' about waist-high). He looks up. Sure enough, the gun belongs to a large, stupid-lookin' pasty white dude with huge ol' ears floppin' all around. The creature's grinning all goofy and hollers, "Sweet surprises!"

    Rabbit! Shit! How'd he find him here? Lucky woulda sworn he wasn't followed. His heart's pounding as he watches the beast with the inane grin flop his ears. Flippin' dorky dork. Checking quick, he sees Rabbit's alone in the alley. Alone with a gun pointed, ready to turn Lucky's brains into raspberry red mush all over the far wall. Man, if he gets out of this, he's goin' straight back to General Mills and kick his ass.

    Lucky plays it cool. "So how'd you track me down, Rabbit?"

    The way he gloats tells Lucky that Rabbit's paying more attention to his ego than his gun. Dangerous gunbunny.

    "Disguised as a gangsta rapper, I saw you head into that grocery store, then just hid here until you came out!" He is so full of his own bad self that all his sentences come with expolation points. "And now all that fruity goodness is mine! Ah, tricks!--" Rabbit gets all excited and starts singing in the alley, loud as he can, forgetting all about his gun. "Sugar sugar, Lemon yellow, orange orange--" Talk about fruity...

    Lucky sees his chance and sugar-smacks the gun outta Rabbit's grasp, knocking it down a sewer grate. The quick action stuns both of them a little, then Rabbit's crackhead grin fades and his ears start to droop. Now it's Lucky's turn to smile, kind of a sneer or a smirk or something.

    "Silly Rabbit," he said, "Tricks are for kids who know how to play 'em without gettin' their ass kicked. You do not ever want to fuck with me. You're toast, man! I eat assholes like you as part of a nutritious breakfast! I know-- I'll turn into a Sherman tank and--" But Rabbit, making some gay-ass sproingy noise, is already history, a little white speck bouncing off in the distance like a koo-koo bird.