Joey Alexander knows he is good (fornothing) wrote in rooms,
Re: Marvel: Rescuing the tiniest Alexander
[Underneath the bridge wasn't any place for the young unless they were strung out. Or maybe they just preferred a night under an unforgiving moon over whatever hells the homestead promised. That was his story, although he always went home eventually, even if it was just at dawn so that he could pour some discount cereal into a chipped coffee cup that he made function as a bowl. Sometimes there wasn't milk, but tap water made cereal wet, Sam and Tess got something in their stomachs. He'd make sure that tonight, the next night -- whatever, yeah? -- he'd have some real dough, something to score a pizza like fuckin' Christmas Eve. No boxed mac and cheese tonight, no way, he was going to score big. He was going to take down that gas station three blocks over and -- Welcome to 20-fucking-14, Cocoa.
He'd ignored the chick. Ignored her because the girls that came down these ramps and under this bridge weren't anything to start getting swoon eyed over, even after some malt liquor. Not unless somebody was wanting a trip to the free clinic for some antibiotics, so no, Joey didn't look at her like that. A lot of girls came through here asking for cash or booze or a fuckin' ciggie. It wasn't until Cocoa that his blue eyes lit up, hooded with lids worn down by malt liquor and trash smoke. Joey stumbled his way out of his lawn chair. He stumbled, he didn't hold his booze & drug cocktails later in life and he really didn't hold them now. No big brother to teach the proper fractions, right?]
The fuck you call me? [He stepped, staggered, nearly tipped into the bin of trash fire, but righted ultimately. Even if he looked like his knees might just buckle any moment, Alexanders were known for staying on their feet.]