He didn’t mind kids. Truly he didn’t. It was the teenagers that did it. Their pencil bodies, slimy hair, bumpy/inflamed faces, squeaky voices and most obvious was the questions. If somebody asked him how much twelve balloons were going to cost at fifty cents a piece, he was going to vomit AND he had the alcohol in his system to do it. Now, Daodon didn’t particularly enjoy to drink. It just seemed like the best option at the time. At the time was the key phrase there.
He was soon fired after that. He hadn’t been drunk by any means. He didn’t even believe that he had been buzzed or tipsy but fate had an odd way of shoving it’s metaphorical foot so far up his a** that he would choke on the shoe strings. A day or so before, he had been driving to Land of Parties only to nearly be run over by one of those Hummer/SUV/Hybrid/Gas guzzling/Soccer mom driving/ Lesbian cars which in turn had forced him to nearly clip a cop. The same cop who had decided that they needed party supplies the evening that he had taken a risk to calm his nerves. The same cop who, with his disgruntled, set in stone features and eyes hidden behind aviator sun glasses (and yes, even inside), had somehow caught the smell of alcohol on his breath. Not only did this lead Daodon to believe that the man was a classic son of a b***h but he had the nose of one too. Apparently, it didn’t take long for him to contact the acting district manager and she had all too happily set him to the curb.
That had been two days ago and he was almost certain that the stench of the wine stayed with him for the duration. Yes, it had been wine that he had been sipping on that dark, fateful evening at the party store from hell but in his defense, it was poorly flavored and must have had an alcohol content far above the traditional. He had even attempted the excuse that it was for his heart. The French had done it, so why couldn’t he? Apparently it was red whine or white wine and not an Arbor Mist sour grape wine that had been for but whatever the wine he remained smothered in it.
It didn’t particularly taste good. In fact, it was sour and with every sip he wanted to purse his lips and suck in his cheeks like a fish but he managed a practiced look that was calm and almost enjoyable. Vince had taught him that. And what Vince had also taught him was that whenever the older man was about, something horrible always happened. It was as if all his luck was sucked out of his body and donated to the man that had practically had everything. This recent event meant that he was somewhere near. Be it in the city, the neighborhood, or the house next door, he was somewhere and he more than likely wanted something. Another sip was taken from the sour drink and this time he allowed himself to indulge in the fish expression as he rested in a fluffy, La-Z-Boy arm chair that had been purchased after a drunken Vince staggered into the display room, somehow tearing the fabric open in his drunken stupor. It gave it character, he had attempted to explain only to have a seven hundred dollar chair delivered to his house the next day.
His gray eyes closed and he kept himself perfectly still to balance out the fact that he had felt like he was moving. That odd sensation had started somewhere between the last sip of wine and to the resting of his eyes but there was a sound- an odd sound actually that forced him to crack his eyes open. Wasn’t the television an inch or so to the left last time he had his eyes opened? And the last time he had his eyes opened, wasn’t there an absence of a Vince trying to push it towards the door? See? He was always right. When something horrible happened it was because Vince was somewhere in the immediate area, sucking his life and anything positive out of him.
He waited. Waited to be noticed and waited for the other man to realize that he was being watched. There was thought put into how he had managed to get into the house though it was a stupid question in the end. The man probably picked a lock, found a spare key or managed to fold himself up into the tiniest box of Chinese food that he had ordered the night before and had finally worked out the stiffness in his back to attempt to steal his television.
A few curses fell from the man when he eventually fell out of room to push the television stand, the plug’s cord long past spent. Great, he was trying to break the cables. Anybody else’s television plug would have fallen from the socket and let the man keep on strolling, down the small porch steps and into the lawn where he would miraculously be able to push/drag or shove it to the nearest pawn shop so that he could buy the next beer. His, however, would stick and rip and shred so that it would be utterly worthless and any pawn shop would laugh at it’s appearance. “You’re about to break it.” Daodon sounded more aggravated than he had thought he would. Even with the aid of the wine in his hand. “Do you have the money on you to buy me another?”
The man whirled around to face him and if he had ever seen a smile so fake that belonged on a salesman, this was it. “Currently, I have sixty-two thousand.”
“On you?” Daodon questioned with a raise in his tone. Something between surprise and, dare he even think it, impressed way of speaking.
“More or less.” Which meant no. It was tied up between himself, a “business partner” that he planned to steal it from and maybe a behind a brick that was hidden around the side of one of his many hotels. Why, he begged to understand, would a man with as much money as he had resort to this? Why would he sleep on the sidewalk in front of his hotels, why would he spend his money on booze and more booze, why would he put more financial stress on himself and why, in god’s name, did he not knock?
“Then why do you need my television?” A question that he was nervous to ask and uncertain that he truly wanted it answered. Somehow, the fact that he had figured it to be used for a pawnshop seemed in the wrong direction completely.
“I need something to watch if I’m going to be staying with you.” Bingo. Reason he didn’t want an answer number one. “
Vincerus Community Member 
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