Chapter 8: The Infamy is Crushed

Chapter 8: The Infamy is Crushed

Quincy quickly realized that he had nothing to eat, and so he decided to run to the store.  It was only a few blocks down the road.  Ah, the splendid convenience of city life.  Sure the store was dirty, mice were often seen running across the floor, and the shelves were mostly empty and that’s not even mentioning the fact that many of the goods were expired, the produce looked like it had been sitting there since the Regan administration, and the cash register people were some of the meanest, bitterest people to ever live.  Again, thank god for the convenience.  Who would want to have to drive a few miles to go to a clean, stocked with fresh goods, friendly environment filled grocery store? 

When Quincy arrived at the store, he was greeted by the usual crowd.  The first person he ran into was the guy who seemed to be on top of the music and movie industry happenings.  In fact, he usually had CD’s available before they were released (clearly he had connections to executives in the music industry who wanted to help him out).  He also had movies on video before they were a week old in the theatres.  And for prices that were unbeatable.  Quincy was sure the guy must have known all the high up people in both industries to get such a jump on the competition. 

The next person Quincy passed was the guy who sold incense and hats.  Some of the clientele of this guy’s roadside shop were very private about their goods and would request to make their purchases inside his nearby van.  Oddly, the van often smelled a lot like those homemade cigarettes.  Maybe some of the short people were hanging out in there.

Quincy, not interested in acquiring a hat walked past but was stopped by a young girl, probably about twelve or thirteen.  She seemed to be eyeing Quincy as he came, and got in front of him as he approached.

“So what do you want?”  she asked.

“Huh?”

“I’ve got it all, and better prices than him” she said pointing at the hat and incense dealer.

“Oh, no, I don’t need a hat, thank you.”

“Cut the shit, you know what I’m talking about, do you want any or not.”

Quincy, puzzled by this questioning, stared at the girl.  Just then a man came running at Quincy and the girl with a gun pulled.  Quincy and the girl both ran into a nearby alley.  A bullet tore through the wall behind them as they barely escaped.  The girl looked over at Quincy, not sure why he had followed her.  Quincy was too busy running to even question whether he was really being chased.  They must have run a few blocks before they finally slowed down and found a place to hide.  It was one of the Septa Stations. 

Quincy grabbed one of his Septa Tokens from his pocket and placed it in the machine. He walked through the gate.  Noticing that the girl had not entered, Quincy assumed she did not have any money on her.  Not wanting to leave her to die, he placed a token in the machine and motioned for her to come.  The girl followed him and made no gesture of thanks or appreciation.  She simply walked past him, down to the waiting area. 

Quincy was sure she was simply embarrassed about not having any money.  Though he wondered why so many people in Philadelphia seemed to act in a similar fashion.  He did not want to be over critical, but it seemed as though the people he saw on the average day were not as pleasant as he had once thought.  Sure he told himself that the guy at the pizza place who sold him a coke was not being rude by ignoring him, but he could not help but feel like the man was less than friendly.  In fact, now that he thought about it, the majority of the people he met in Philadelphia had the personality of a man with turrets syndrome mixed with an anger disorder.  And not even a nice man with turrets and an anger disorder.  He wondered if maybe everyone he saw in a day had been so friendly all day, that by the time he ran into them, their cheerfulness had faded.  He couldn’t blame people for not being able to be happy every second.  He reprimanded himself for expecting too much of people.

After catching up to his new friend, he sat down next to her.  Her forehead was sweating, and she was trembling a little.  Quincy reached for her hand to try and calm her, but she pulled it away and turned her head. 

“Can I at least ask your name?” Quincy asked.

“Why you gots to be following me?  I ain’t acts you for help.  So why don’t you fuck off!”

“What does that mean, fuck?”

“You don’t know what it means?  What are you, retarded?  It mean… well, it means to screw.”

“So you want me to screw off?   I’m not sure I understand.”

“Oh shut da hell up!  You got a lot…”

The ground began to shake and the vibrations signaling the train was approaching overwhelmed her voice and they prepared to board the train.

They both hustled onto the train, and the girl found a seat towards the back of the car.  With a tough exterior presentation highlighted by a squinted pair of eyes and a half frown, she proceeded to stare out the window as if Quincy did not exist.  Still he followed her and sat down in the seat next to her.  Annoyed by his persistence, she turned to him and stared.  The look would have caused pain to anyone else, but Quincy’s persistent positivity seemed to be unaffected by her glare. 

With a smile he announced, “My name is Quincy.”

“Oh Jesus… fine, my name Shaquana.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“What the hell is wrong witch you?  Clearly you ain’t had no intentions of buying any drugs.  Cuz, I knows you ain’t never done any.  Yet, you be following a drug dealer who was being chased buys a man witda gun.”

Quincy was shocked.  He had heard about drug dealers, but they were only in bad parts of the world.  And kids could never be drug dealers, especially a girl.  What kind of a messed up world would it be if drug dealers were in Philadelphia, let alone, if they were young girls?  He began stretching his mind in every possible direction to figure out how he could be mishearing this conversation.  Could drugs be a code word for… no… maybe…  what if... or...

Shaquana interrupted his thoughts.  With an inquisitive facial expression she inquired, “Why you looking shocked?  You did know I'ze offering you drugs?  … Sweet Jesus son, you live in a cave or sumtin?  Let me guess, you thought that man be chasing you?  Oh Lord, how do you survive living here?”

“Well, I hadn’t left the house much when I was younger.  But, you’re serious?  You’re a real live drug dealer?”

“Don’t act so shocked kid.  I ain’t no rarity.  There be drug dealers on every block in West Philly.  Hell, iz easier to find a drug dealer than a policeman.”

Finally it became very clear to Quincy, it all made sense now.  He was dreaming.  This was a strange dream that he would soon wake up from and never have to think about again.  The only problem was, he was quite sure that he had never realized he was dreaming while he was dreaming before.  He wasn’t even sure that was possible.  Then his stomach dropped again.  This was a nightmare, only this was the worst kind of nightmare: the kind that happens while you’re still awake.  Life had suddenly become a nightmare.  He’d arrived in hell, only the welcome sign had renamed the place Philadelphia.   
            Quincy raced through his memories of his mother.  She had always told him that Philadelphia was a wonderful place.  Yet, this new revelation did not match up with the words of his mother.  He could sense that Shaquana was still talking to him but he was in a daze, he felt dizzy and suddenly darkness appeared.