Boulevard Shuffle

"Shit..." The adolescent teenager mumbled under his breath—dexterous digits smashing away at the colorful buttons of the handheld gaming system in his grip. Hazel orbs danced across the little screen to catch every single pixel of action and chaos. The Teenager responded accordingly with catlike reflexes—the character he controlled pulling off expert level combos upon those foolish enough to oppose him. Jack grinned, teeth on full display as the round timer began counting down from ten. He had this little scuffle in the bag, the players he was up against couldn't possibly catch up.

That was until the unexpected happened...

"Oh you dirty fuckers..." He whispered yet again, his character now a rag doll being tossed around with his HP dropping rapidly. The players decided to jump him—get rid of him with one combined effort so they wouldn't have to deal with him for the time being. Jack put up a valiant effort, his skills in the game and reflexes showing as he held his own against seven other pissed gamers. However, ultimately, he fell to their sheer numbers. Game Over... the screen flashed with vibrant colors. Jack simply shook his head, closed the portable system, slipped it back into his book bag, and decided to cease his gaming for the time being.

"Salty ass bitches. Who they gonna' just jump me like that and still almost catch that L? Fuckin' morons." He spat, furious over the outcome as he stood up from his chair and made his way down the busy boulevard street. "Eh, she'll text me when she's finished. I'm about to go grab a bite to eat. Damn I'm hungry." He announced to himself, hazel eyes fixating on one of the many food stands lined up going down the street in a virtually endless food line. The aspiring pugilist trekked forward, Nike sneakers carrying him forward as he followed along the foot traffic. Today Jack promised his older sister he'd spend the evening with her—well, after her check-up. But said check-up took longer than expected and he was dying of starvation being the melodramatic little brother that he is. So, until she was finished, he'd be off stuffing his face like a overweight kid at a candy store. But the question remained: what would he indulge in?      

"Overheard, huh...?" Hazel hues on the boy who approached him—boyish visage morphed into a subtle scowl with cocked eyebrows. "Sounds more like you were eavesdropping, but I say less..." Jack grinned, paying no mind to the eavesdropping nature but more on the suggestion thrown in his direction. "You fuckin' kidding me, right?" He inquired sarcastically, toned arms folding up against his chest with a shaking head. "We in Little Tokyo, brodie. Why the hell would I put that processed sludge in my stomach? Especially considerin' I can get the real deal all around." He cocked another brow mid speech, looking the fellow up and down in one quick succession. "You must be new around these parts, huh? Outta' explain it, I reckon. Look, I'mma' go get some takoyaki because that shit slaps. Thanks for the suggestion, but no thanks." Jack turned away from the lad, throwing up the piece sign as amble steps carried him onward. "Though you're welcome to join me if you want some authentic cuisine, brodie. But be wary of that Panda Express; that shit will kill ya'." He ended with a chuckle, hands stuffed into trouser pockets; not a single worry in the world.     

Normally not the type of fella to press an issue when it didn't concern him, Jack allowed the boy to spew the reasons why he was feeding his family toxic sludge and left it at that—their funerals, not his. Gesturing for the lad to keep up, the aspiring fighter made it to the stand and entered through the draped opening, a lone hand pushing away the hanging curtain separating the busy street and the empty stand. "Gotta' love these lines, huh, brodie?" A sarcastic retort as he sat down at the booth, the stool beside him vacant for the boy to take if he wanted. "Yo, pops. Some of your famous takoyaki  for me and my boy and keep it comin'." Jack announced to the old man on the grill. "This authentic enough for you, brodie?" He inquired, gesturing for the women behind the bar for two drinks. "If you ain't from these parts, where do you reside from if you don't mind me askin'?"  

"Sunlake Palms, huh? You of those country boys, then? Heh, that'll explain a lot." Jack retorted, fully understanding the reasoning behind this lad wanting to feed his family processed sludge opposed to an more healthier alternative. "But the city ain't that bad, brodie. Folks here are extremely welcoming and willin' to help out a country bumpkin such as yourself, ya' know?" A playful insult followed by a snaggletooth grin as Jack slide over the glass of water to his newly found acquaintance. But when the first batch of fried seafood came out, Jack couldn't help himself but dig in to his own batch without even a moments notice. Ball after ball went into his mouth and devoured like the hungry beast he was and proclaimed himself to be time and time again. "Leavin' already?" Jack inquired after the question bestowed upon him. With a mouth full of mushed goodness, he swallowed and gestured for a to-go-box. "There you go, brodie. But I told Pop's here to keep it comin', so there's waaay more than that comin'. But if you gotta' bounce, you gotta' bounce; no sweat off my sack, y'know?"