fff#28

my flash fiction friday #28; (inclusion) trigger: rebellion, fox, strange, mirror, pleasure. testdriving new character again but promising that if these explorations wuk we'll meet these folks again, maybe even gathering together...so how this one do? walk good.

i bubblewrap myself before i go to the parlour. is the pleasure of the fellas on the corner to say all kinna ting as i pass and i never know if it will stay polite or cross into graphic or otherwise distasteful so i prepare my defences, starting with the shot.
one shot of granny’s crown royal just before i put on clothes does wonders for courage, warmth spreading through my flesh and organs and penetrating bones (this discovered a night she kept all of us by her while all the grownups went some fete ‘cause aunty bunny was home for the first carnival in donkey-years; me and my cousin dared to kiss by a relentless gang of teenage siblings and assorted relatives while gran snored like the garbage truck rumbling up the lane an early morning).
i swallow the shot and find music; sometimes talib, sometimes shadow or machel, a protective layer of feelgood or militant to armour myself.
a quick look in the mirror to see if i need a small fresh or already have on anything functional; is only the corner, easy-on-easy-off, but doh make the mistake of home-shortpants ‘cause them fellas on the corner watching and your bumsee will draw more attention than you expect, especially with that thin house vest; doh look like you tryin’ to look good ‘cause tha’s talk, but doh look sloppy either ‘cause tha’s a nex’ kinna talk…readying for this excursion always strange, vibesin’ from far, trying to feel the road from inside the house to put on the right mask to face it.
the guilty cat coming over the wall from the neighbour yard as i step outside just in time to catch her already leaping, back legs barely anchored on top the wall, forepaws stretching, reaching into space, but as we eyes make four she mash brakes in mid-air and scramble back, claws snatching the vines holding the wall together to pull herself to equilibrium and still smirk at me, a mere mortal trying to maco the manoeuvring of cats.
she suspect she eh outfox me ‘cause i smile back like i know her secret buried in our yard under the guava tree, and with that she freeze, staring, glaring ‘cause i make out her shady cat business.
how she watch me as i leave is the last little push the growing rebellion in my chest need to send me to the parlour head high this time: fyah bun them fellas ole talk, i taking down tigers today.