We'll Rule This City

Chapter 2

As warm yellow rays of sunlight spread across him, all Harry could wonder was why was his pillow was so crumbly and sticky? – and why did his face feel weird? Until he realised it wasn't actually soft fabric that met his cheek, rather half a slice of last night's pepperoni pizza. Ah, that would explain the vague tomato smell that was still lingering. Picking at the leftover meal, he flung it onto the floor. Kane or Rudy or Buster, or one of the other mutts that liked to wander in and use his bed as their own during the day, would most likely slobber it up.

Stretching his arms out and yawning obnoxiously loud, he twisted under his sheets to turn to the side. His clock read 14:40. Shit! Had he really slept away most of the day? That was not good. No, that was not good at all. He had things to do and now he was behind schedule!

Leaping out of his bed, Harry winced as the floor beneath him creaked and his whole world tilted to one side. His Uncle hated when he did that – said his old girl wouldn't last much longer if his boisterous nephew kept treating her like a piece of junk. Well...she is a piece of junk, Harry always felt like saying, but she was a piece of junk that was their home. He would be lying if he denied he felt no sense of affection for the trailer.

Having heard no cry of annoyance from his Uncle, Harry decided he can't have been too loud or heavy-footed, although he was careful to be a lot calmer as he busied himself with cleaning his face of lingering food and throwing on his clothes – just a t-shirt and basketball shorts for the blistering hot weather that day – and creaked open the door of his room, which was really no more than a cupboard at the end of the trailer, which in itself was just a series of teeny-tiny rooms interlinked by four doors.

His Uncle was where he expected him to be, where he always was, where he had been every single fucking day for the past five years.

"You're up late," the man said gruffly, "lazy sonofabitch." Although to the untrained ear the mumblings from the sixty something year old man sounded more along the lines of: "Erup'lay, 'azee sono'abitch."

Harry snorted. "Hey, that's your sister you're talking about there. Watch your dirty mouth."

The man let out a noise not quite unlike a growl. "I'll make your mouth dirty, if you don't watch out, boy. Kids these days, no fucking manners."

"Yeah well, we all know you sure as hell didn't help on that front," Harry muttered. Glancing at the TV he could see the normal soap opera plastered on the small and slightly cracked screen. It was almost the same shows every day. His Uncle had a pretty standard routine – had done ever since he'd been forced to give up his work as a construction site worker after a devastating accident which had left his mobility in tatters.

Fortunately the man's wife, and Harry's no-nonense Aunt, worked as a manager at the local diner, bringing in enough money to support the remaining family who still lived at home. How many were there now? Harry, along with his Uncle and four cousins. Or is it three? I never know if Travis still lives here or not. Travis was three years his senior and was constantly breaking up and getting back together with his girlfriend of ten years, so it depended on the weather of that relationship if the man was back home or not.

Grabbing a bowl from the draining rack and pulling the cereal out of the cupboard above the seat, Harry sat down on the lumpy couch next to his Uncle, handing the man a cold beer as he did so. The man grunted his thanks and the two sat in silence for a while, staring at the TV. Unintentionally, as it always was, Harry found himself becoming engrossed in the bad acting, predictable storylines and overload of drama that was the modern day soap opera.

"Huh...I thought she'd left," he spoke through a mouthful of milk and frosted flakes as a familiar looking blond woman strutted onto screen, wearing a skimpy dress that left very little to the imagination.