❝Money is like muck—not good unless it be spread.❞
— Francis Bacon

8 || coins always make sound

"Yeah, okay, bye."

When Brolin gets off the phone, I don't even ask him what Fern said.

He tells me, anyway.

"He's gonna have some friends come by and work on his car—"

I let out an obnoxiously loud sigh. "When can we leave?" It's only been 30 minutes, but the sun's vicious beam and the fact that my armpits are sweating in this dress is making me uncomfortable.

Brolin just rolls his eyes and opening the trunk to his cousin's car, takes out a bike.

"I'm not getting on that," I say, not giving him the chance to explain. I just don't do well with bikes. I know how to ride a bike, but there's a difference in knowing how to ride a bike and riding a bike.

Knowing how to ride a bike; is knowing the basics but it doesn't particularly mean you're good at riding a bike. It only means you CAN ride one.

Riding a bike: you can just hop on the thing and do many things with it. You can use it as a form of transportation, if someone was chasing you, you'd get on a bike and be able to escape.

"C'mon," Brolin says, then taking something else from the trunk. "You can wear the helmet."

:: :: ::

This is awkward.

Brolin doesn't think so.

I always wondered how two people could ride on a bike together, but now that I know. I just find it strangely awkward.

I'm sitting on the seat while Brolin is in front pedaling and steering the bike. I have my hands on his shoulders. And while I'm scared... ironic enough, I feel safe at the same time.

If that makes any sense.

"Where are we going, again?" I ask Brolin. He'd told me when we were in the car, but I've forgotten that quick.

"I need to visit a friend," he answers. I remain quiet but curiosity is prevalent in my mind. I do want to ask why, and the thing that's stopping me is the fact I'm on a bike and afraid of tipping over and leaving my brain on the sidewalk.

Brolin isn't bad at steering a bike. By now, I would have had us tipped over into a ditch.

When we start to pass through various neighborhoods, I see that we're coming into a trailer park. I think I've been here before, taking from this one time when I'd went with justice to get her pills. The guy she got the pills from, name was Ben, and he had a toddler in the living room, merely clad in a dirty diaper playing with some legos on the floor, along with a woman passed out on the couch. It was a sad sight to see, but what was I to expect with a drug dealer and it's household?

We take a couple rights and lefts, venturing deeper into the trailer park. There's people outside tending to their small lawns, not even glancing at the two strangers on a bike, entering their neighborhood. I have feeling their used to outsiders wandering in and out of here.

I'm disappointed when we stop. Though I was initially scared riding the bike, I'd say it was fun. I don't know, something about it made me feel as if I was taking a chance. And yes, if you inferred I must not have an adventurous life, if riding a bike with a guy in midday heat is enough to make me feel as if I'm taking risks. Then you're right.

The trailer, we stop in front of is painted this bright blue, that makes my skin itch.

"Uh, how do I take this off?" I ask Brolin.

Somehow the helmet was easy to put on, but taking it off is a challenge. I slightly tug at the strap, but the helmet still doesn't budge.

"Here, let me help," Brolin comes over and easily, he begins to loosen the straps. While he's doing this, I take this moment again to look at him. I wonder what he's been through, what things he had to go through to put him where he is today. Sure he got fired from his job, and his grandfather is in the hospital. But I really think there's a genuineness to Brolin that you just don't see in a lot of people nowadays. Though I've known him for a little bit, I can see mainly in his eyes that he has a heart.

"Comin'?"

I break out of my trance, and realize that my helmet is now off and Brolin's making his way to the trailer. So what just happened? Was I staring at him, yet at the same time, daydreaming?

I quickly walk over to him.

:: :: ::

Inside the trailer it's clean and pretty spacious—spick and span.

Let's ignore, that the person who owns this place lives inside a trailer that's painted an annoying blue. The merchandise in here, already tells me what I need to know about this guy—he's carrying some serious bank.

There's a flat screen TV hanging on the wall a couple feet away from the door, along with a mini bar in the corner stocked with expensive vodkas and rums. Then there are leather couches, a glass coffee table and two glass end tables, and the small kitchenette in the corner—though small, has marble top counters and the fridge already looks pricey as it is.

:: :: ::

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