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"JEEZ, MAN. THIS IS NUTS." Topper says as he, Kelce, and Rafe walk in his backyard. He points to a beaten-up sailboat resting on his back porch.
"Agatha's a bitch." Rafe speaks up, he stumbles over his feet in a constant buzzed state.
Chuckling Kelce agrees, "damn right, she is."
"I mean, I just— I can't get it out of my head. It's just on repeat." Topper says, motioning to his head.
"Oh, how's your ball sack by the way?" Rafe asks, laughing at Topper.
"Fuck off. You know, what are you gonna do about that bitch touron anyway?" Topper cringes, thinking back to the night of the kegger.
"Yeah, how do you know she won't go to Peterkin?" Kelce pesters, biting his lip nervously.
"Because that dumb cunt can't do anything to me. I'll probably get a week's probation at most." Rafe says nonchalantly, taking a sip of his morning alcohol.
"It doesn't help that she's got that crazy pogue pussy-whipped." Topper says under his breath.
"Bro, he's got a fucking semi-automatic."
"That's what I'm saying. It's insane."
"They're freaking pogues, man," Rafe adds. "You know you should get a piece." He turns to his younger friends, his face revealing a devilish smile.
"What do you mean?" Topper asks, confused about what he was going on about.
"Well, that faggotwhore has been getting a little too close to Sarah. Who knows? She might fuck her too."
"What? Wait, are you talking about Martha?" Topper asks, holding his hand out on Rafe's chest, to make sure he heard that right.
"Yeah, you didn't know? Sarah's a little fag. Martha's a big titty fag, who has a crazy little shit of a pogue attached to her hip. Whatever. You gotta fight fire with fire and defend the homestead." Rafe rambles on.
"Listen, guys, I-I'm gonna get 'em back, all right? I'm making it a little project of mine. Just don't bring Sare into this."
➵ ➵ ➵
"AND WE WERE RIGHT OUTSIDE LIKE THIS." JJ reenacts dramatically as he shuffles down into a squatting position against the brick porch wall. A rooster crows in the distance. "And all we hear is just, Bam! Bam! Bam!"
Martha is diagonal across from him, sitting on the edge of a brown recliner. She's nervously bouncing her knee as she watches him retell the story of earlier today. John B is standing right next to her, his fingers clutching around the rusty compass he's grown so attached to. Kiara sits across from Pope, on a teal green woven chair, as he is on a dark teal couch.
