Chico was usually real good about calling me over whenever he saw some kinda shit-show at the border--but that night, the winds were blowing differently and he thought fuck it for a hot minute before calling my ass over. It wasn’t often he caught horses in trees--but to find one drunk, AND singing? Breh. He wasted no time getting into position, not even bothering with hiding himself from her view. He sat his ass right down in front of that tree, eyes blazing and grin toothy as he hunkered down for a show.

It was only when he had gotten himself good ‘n comfortable--wings tucked around him, mane situated so it wouldn’t tug painfully underneath his fat ass (hey now)--that he finally called me. Yo, he said, and I could hear the laughter in his thought, we got a shrieker. I could feel a regret coming from him that I couldn’t piece together right that second, cuz I was pissed by default about running patrol--but I realized, later, that he wished I wasn’t working and that he still had some of them goddamned apples to feed me, cuz he was still laughing about that other night.

Y’know the one. (Well not yet but shit, you will)

I’d heard her screaming before Chico himself had sent it at me: MESEC!!!! IS MESEC HERE!?!? And I was more pissed right off the bat, cuz like. How the fuck are you gonna come up on someone’s doorstep screaming like that? (fuck ya’ll I ain’t never do it at night) Like people ain’t tryna sleep or whatever? Like we ain’t got babies or some shit? The fuck man?

And I won’t lie, there was a special irritation at some strange bitch walkin’ around d e m a n d i n g Bro like that. Like--bitch don’t come at me him like that, I’ll snatch the tracks out’cho head, fuck with me.

I wasn’t expecting her to be in a tree, though; so when I rolled up there was a solid, like, 23 seconds where I was just staring up at her with squinty eyes and a cocked head. Beholding this hot mess. It was almost a work of art, I ain’t gonna lie, and I couldn’t judge her for how pissy drunk she obviously was. I wasn’t that sort of hypocrite and besides, that’s not where my irritation lay. “The fuck you want with him for?” I spit at her, my handle on grammar flying outta my head in the wake of my anger, “Horses tryna sleep! What even the hell are you doin’ screaming like that? What-wh--where you born in a barn??”

Chico snuggled deeply into the ground, his grin cheesier than ever, cuz he already knew.


"talk"