Title:  Year in the Life - January
Author:  starlastumbleine (starlastumbleine@yahoo.com)
Fandom:  View Askewniverse
Pairing:  Jay/Silent Bob
Feedback:  the Jay & Silent Bob Slash Yahoo! Group
Rating:  F+.  I mean R.
Disclaimer:  I do not own, am not profiting from, and
will not buy or sell any of the View Askew characters.
 All in good fun, you know.  I'm not an employee or
owner of any of the stores, but I made up the ones
that are obviously fake.  The song is Tom Petty & the
Heartbreakers' "Last Dance with Mary Jane."  She
creeped in on me.
Notes:  For the Year of Jay and Silent Bob.  I didn't
bother to get too far into the dates of things, but
think of "present tense" being this year, and all of
last year was 2004, I suppose.  I kept trying to
timeline the entire thing and that's why it's so
frigging late.  I learned not to give a shit when it
kept fucking with my plot.  (p?! wp?)  I also decided
that, no matter what Jay said in Chasing Amy, they did
hang out at the mall all the time.  If enough of the
management chose to turn their heads, I think they'd
have a thriving business, despite LeFours (who
conveniently disappeared with Trish the Dish because
he was no longer needed here).
Warnings:  Uh, I did about zero fact-checking, so some
nit-pickers might have a problem, but I'll repeat what
I said above:  after a certain point, I stopped
caring.  I just wanted *this* story and I wanted it
somewhat coherent.
Summary:  January.  For the last year, our heroes have
been bigger slackers than ever.  Is that possible?
Dedication:  This goes out to my mall, The Florida
Mall.  Orange Blossom Trail, Sand Lake Road. 
Shoutouts to Fashion Square.  Keepin' it Real.  Real
Ghetto.

x x x x x x

According to the rules and laws of The Mall, anyone
caught shoplifting from any store on Mall premises was
subject to a fine, jail time, or a minimum one-year
ban from all Mall property.  Jay, being a loyal
consumer (and vendor) was subject to the latter until
such time as he repaid his debt to the victimized
store and the date of January 6th of the following
year had passed.  According to officially recognized
documents, Jay was free to enter (for the expressed
purposes of purchasing from and patronizing the stores
at this location) Eden Prairie Mall.

The above-mentioned criminal puffed into his hands and
bopped on his feet in front of the doors to the mall. 
Jay glanced at Silent Bob and smiled.  He puffed warm
air into his freezing hands once more when he saw two
Mall security guys round the corner into their wing
and approach the glass.

Silent Bob removed himself from the bench at Jay's
side and checked his watch.  It was 10:26 a.m. on
January the seventh.  Four minutes 'till opening. 
Jay's debt to capitalism had been paid off by 12:01
that morning.

A woman laden with gift bags rudely edged her way in
front of them to glare through the glass at the
rent-a-cops.  Arms covered in paper handles, she freed
a finger to tap the face of her watch violently. 
"It's one past by my watch, pal!"

One solemn old guard simply shook his head 'no.'

And they waited.

x x x x x x

This morning passed like no other in the pair's
history.  Silent Bob paid their rent in cash, before
they left; cash that they had set aside from grocery
cash and from the cash that they were spending now. 
Kiks carried Jay's Doc Martens at the most reasonable
price.  They had shopped there first.  Later they
would pick up a new pair of Vans for Bob.  Second,
they bought Jay a new winter jacket at some new chain
Hip Hop clothing store.  That had been the bulk of the
cash.  Any credit they would spend would be Bob's. 
Jay neither had a bank account nor a credit record. 
He called it, "flying under the radar."

As if getting arrested once a year wasn't leaving a
trail.
Anyway.

Shopping on a budget was part of this new experience. 
They hadn't shopped for much but food, drink and,
well, the staples, since last year at around this
time.  But it was only because they hadn't had the
cash to do so, and not because waltzing into stores
and stuffing one's pockets made Jay in the least bit
skittish, even after an encounter with the cops.

The rest of the cash they took, along with their
oversized shopping bags, to the book/music/movie
superstore added into the east wing over their
absence.  Jay shopped the music while Bob browsed the
books and movies.  And at the checkout counter, a most
unusual object materialized in front of Jay, under the
new Offspring CD and the Marilyn Manson best-of.  It
was a calendar, of all things.  A 'vintage' Playmate
calendar.  Bob was just surprised to see it there,
flashed a questioning glance at Jay and was ignored.

After they bought Bob's shoes and poked around Circuts
N' Stuff for a while, they marched down to the pet
store, set their bags under a nearby bench, and took
their rightful places in front of the shop's huge
windows.  Jay noted that there were now two guinea
pigs sharing the space with the kittens.

x x x x x x

It hadn't been a big deal a year ago.  Jay's
shoplifting was only an eye roll in Bob's day.  A
handful of candy.  A CD from the used bin.  He
supposed he was lucky Jay wasn't hustling high
schoolers for their purchases out in the parking lot,
just for fun.  But the boy was hardly going to
endanger some of the best business they had.  While
Randal Graves' restraining order held over at the
Quick Stop and they were beginning to acquaint
themselves with a new generation of pot smokers and
partiers in Red Bank, Jay and Silent Bob had had only
one regular spot in which to conduct good business.

The mall was a steady connection to the youth in the
area.  High schoolers turned into college kids and
college kids grew up and moved out.  One legacy that
many 20-somethings were sure to leave their siblings
was usually a good connection.  The socialite children
of Jersey had little more to do than party and they
trusted big sis or big brother's dealer.  Jay and Bob
could always be found at the mall on at least Monday,
Wednesday and Friday.  Usually Saturday, too, but the
hours were too short on Sundays for them to bother to
trek out there.  An odd day or few they scoped out new
places but were always careful.  Always tried to keep
it small time.

He didn't know why Jay had chosen a Scarface box set. 
He was not gangsta, no matter how hard he tried.  And
if he had asked, Silent Bob could have found and
yanked the little security tag from the box in
seconds.  Or simply shook his head, "no.  Get a life."

They'd been watching him, been expecting it.  They'd
been looking out for themselves, the owners of that
small electronics store.  Few stores had still
bothered to follow the pair around nervously, but
never before to any end.  The regular retail price of
the Scarface special edition box set had been about
$80.  Fuck.  If he had really wanted it, he could have
bought it.  Considering their reputation in the mall,
Jay got off real light.  The only thing they could
figure was that hanging out there, they brought in
enough business to be considered a vital element to
the shithole.

Which Bob doubted.  He seriously considered the
possibility that Jay had been flirting with the
store's manager to prevent the cops from being pulled
into the situation.  But he'd digress.

The mall authorities did want to work with him.  He
admitted that he was caught, and admitted to what he
was caught doing.  He settled to repay the store for
what he intended to steal (in fact, paid them double)
in hopes that they wouldn't get the police involved in
the situation at all.  They hadn't.  But he had been
banned from the premises for a year.

Randal renewed his restraining order again.  There had
only been a minor situation when Jay barged into the
Quick Stop at the end of January, anyway, demanding to
speak with and "squeeze the scrawny neck" of the
clerk.  The clerk on duty called both Randal (who
didn't answer) and Dante Hicks up who promised he
would try to prevent the next renewal if they would
promise not to stomp Randal or bring product to their
storefront so many days a week.

Still no problem, right?  They had parties.  They had
bars.  

From then, January through March, they were lucky if
they sold a dime bag for every three hours they were
at any joint.  Jay got to feeling so stupid and
dejected that *Bob* was the one trying to make social
calls for them to run.  But the business remained dry
without the youth element.  And they were running
strangely low on cash.  Their movie money was put into
their rent (much more than the rent had been on their
older, smaller apartment) and their possessions.  Jay
had even invested in some seeds from Canada and
planned a sweet setup for growing.  They only required
a small, clean space and the motivation to put
together all the parts to the mini-nursery that they
had bought.  

In late April, it became clear to Silent Bob that
they'd been using up all their money as usual, without
the regular income to back it up.  He took a few days
and cleaned their apartment, mostly to scour for
forgotten money, even change, but also to clear a
space in Jay's closet for the nursery setup.

He did loads of laundry that hadn't been done in
months, maybe years.  He'd emptied out pockets in the
spin cycle and ended up collecting $236 in small bills
and change from pairs of jeans and jackets alone.  Jay
was little help except when he cleared out part of the
kitchen and found an old jar Bob had used to stuff
things in, back when he was more concerned about the
guests who were starting to come to their new
apartment.  Jay found a heavy gold bracelet he used to
own, $102.85 and two dusty little Donalds.  They had
been gifts, back in the day.  Jay liked the high of a
Donald and had planned to take Bob to a party and roll
them that night, but the bigger man confiscated the
ecstasy and said he wasn't even sure if they were
still okay to take, but in any event they might try to
sell them first.

Jay retaliated by taking his $102 and buying a used
GameCube.  He played Metroid for the remainder of the
month instead of helping Bob pick up the house.

It was a strange new twist to be the one scrounging
for parties and connections (scouting for *jobs*) and
basically being the active one in their friendship. 
For all these years, Jay had been the one hopping
about.  Jay had been the one who'd venture out on the
streets to make a sale when Bob was too tired or too
lazy to do anything but play video games.  But ever
since they'd been banned from the mall, the most Jay
had done was successfully build the workings for the
new pot plants.

They would argue, then.  A lot.  About who fucked life
up more:  the guy who got busted for shoplifting or
the one who never bothered to do anything for their
income before things went to hell.  About why Jay
couldn't pick himself up and try out other hangouts
across town where he might find some business.  About
why Bob couldn't just open his fucking mouth up and
recite a Jay routine for the kids to get business like
they used to.  About Jay's bad fucking attitude. 
About Bob's bad fucking attitude.

It usually ended with Jay locking himself in his room
and destroying a cone all by himself.  He'd then
wander out towards the television, ignoring his
roommate completely, to play another video game.  On
the rare occasion he wasn't stoned and unmovable, Bob
would try to get him to call his man in Canada to
bully the promised seeds out of him.  He finally
succeeded by mid-May and, in the tiniest moment of
inspiration, planted them and began treating them
immediately.  This would require all sorts of new
tasks that might get the boy off of his ass.  Bob
studied up on light waves and light distribution, so
they tweaked the set up every now and again.  There
was watering, fertilizing, and later harvesting and
drying.  But this didn't take up the whole day. 

Jay would pull out their X-Box and PlayStation.  He'd
sit from 10 in the morning to 10 at night and then
crash again, unless they had a party or guests. 
Silent Bob might try to hop the bus towards the mall
to catch some of the teenagers after 3:00, but without
Jay, business just wasn't the same.  If customers
caught wind of gossip that Jay had been busted for
something, they'd think it was unsafe to either buy
from Silent Bob or be seen in his company.  Some of
their people were total dirt bags, drunk or stoned all
the time.  They might not care whether Silent Bob was
hanging out with someone or not, but if he or Jay
weren't around, they'd buy from anyone who would hook
them up with a fix.

It just didn't work if the talker wasn't there. 
Business was getting worse, if possible.  Some of
Jay's junkie friends might come over for some
multiplayer, but they'd consume the beer supply and
smoke anything Jay lit up for himself.

There was a point, late in July, when Silent Bob had
finally had it.  *Had it.*  Suddenly, after years of
being the muscle, the backup, the reliable one, he was
also suddenly the fucking customer relations guy.  He
was doing everything for them both but wiping Jay's
ass.  And God forbid the boy went out and got too
drunk one night and...  just whatever.

He proposed one day that they head over to the mall
area, for which Jay gave him a wary look from his
stagnant position on the couch.

"Dude.  You fucking know I can't go to the mall."  His
head slumped back to look at the TV.  "That's why
we're fucking sitting here on our asses in the first
place.  What's your problem?"

Hardly a problem, he said.  Bob told him he'd be in
and out in a jiffy, and then they were heading further
into town for lunch or something.  Anything.  He just
wanted Jay to unstick himself from the couch.  He
didn't even know what he promised.  Maybe at one point
he even promised him a trip to the fucking petting
zoo.  Since March the kid had been on his fucking ass
playing zombie in front of the idiot box (-- boxes). 
Stoned or gone the entire time.  No motivation, no
cares, no movement.  No work.  No money.  And he
hadn't cared.

Bob would make him care, one way or another.

With the promise of entertainment, Jay got up,
dressed, and on a bus to the mall area.  When they got
there, Jay stood at the bus stop, Bob threw him the
last half a pack of cigarettes he had, and Jay was to
wait there until Bob was out - one toe on premesis and
he was in line for a trip downtown.  They didn't need
that.  Bail would be a serious strain on their cash.

Anyway, it would be a jiffy, he'd said.  In and out.

Bob stuck around and talked to some folks.  He had a
nice time at lunch in the food court with one of the
many Jones sisters (or mothers, or aunts or
something).  He browsed some book stores at a pace
that *he* had wanted, he even went to Smoke n' Snuff
and bought a fancy pack of something that just felt
good when it burned.  He hung in there for a while. 
Blew off some steam.  Ran off at the mouth a bit with
some folks he didn't know but could discuss flicks and
books with.  It turned out to be a fine six hours.

And it wasn't because he got caught up in
conversation.  It wasn't because he had that much to
do.  It was because he wanted Jay to sit the fuck
outside.  For six hours.  At a bus stop.  Doing
nothing.  Waiting for his friend to get finished doing
nothing.  So he could fucking well know how it felt.

By the end of the six hours the boy was so delirious
with fear and rage that he could hardly think straight
and blew a gasket when Silent Bob asked why he hadn't
simply waited in one of the surrounding shops or
restaurants for him to finish.  He hardly had to wait
out here at the bus stop all day!

Jay screamed, actually screamed, and yanked at
handfuls of his hair, trying to hold himself back.  He
could hardly take Bob in a fight.  He said he could,
but he thought different.  He knew different.  Just
stood and bellowed at the man, wanting to punch him in
the face.  How fucking dare he?

And Silent Bob only shrugged.

How fucking dare he when he knew damn well Jay
couldn't go in there and-- SIX hours.  Fucking six
hours he couldn't have known where he'd been.  How
could he?  He couldn't *send* him out to a fucking
restaurant?  Or out on another goddamn bus?  'Hey,
Jay, why don't you skedaddle back home, I've got
business to take care of!?'

"Because," Bob calmly explained while the shitstorm of
all verbal thrashings raged around him, "you wouldn't
fucking have that courtesy for me."

He repeated this a few times before Jay stopped to
listen to it.
And think about it for a second.
And wonder at what an asshole he'd become.

x x x x x x

Jay asked Bob what he was supposed to do then.  He
said he didn't know, either.  They'd never been in
this situation before.  But Bob's mom was running her
catering company on some short staff lately, and there
were lots of weddings coming up.  He could help her
out, maybe.  Scrape in a few bucks while Bob fished
for transactions at the mall on his own.

Jay spent the rest of the summer with Bob's mother,
setting up tents and tables.  Carting away chairs and
nipping sips of wine.  He was hardly content, but 'Ma'
would shove some fifties in his face at the end of a
day for his hard labor and send him off with a brew
and a smile.  He knew she was being nice, and he knew
Bob had asked her to.  But wouldn't feel bad when she
ran her own business and raked in so much dough. 
Between the slim pickings at parties, Bob's meager
work, and this, it was just getting by.

This was hopefully where that ended.  The mall.  Their
business back in full run.  There was a sunglass store
across from the pet shop and it had been gutted in
recent months.  "The Flame Exchange," the store's
replacement, blared lewd music and was run by some
bored looking, pierced and tattooed young things who
pushed trendy tees and strappy, belted, safety-pinned,
oversized black pants on the high school rock kids.

A whole new set of buyers would discover the store.  A
whole new set of buyers would soon discover Jay
flailing about to the Dropkick Murphys and gyrating to
A Perfect Circle, right across the hall.  Time for the
mouth to run.  Time for business to pick right back
up.  Time for the Duo, back in full force.

x x x x x x

Jay didn't complain that his arms hurt as he lugged
his and Lunchbox's bags up the stairs to their
apartment.  It was a pleasant pain.  The kind of
soreness he had come to like after a day of hauling
out big plastic tents, putting them up and pulling the
big fuckers back down again.  He must admit his boney
arms had gained some definition, his calves were
almost as strong as they'd been when he was a kid
working landscaping for his step-dad.  And dancing
today - dancing, really feeling it, being back in the
mall with the hustle and the bustle and the beat - had
been spectacular.  Twenty sales wasn't much to scream
about, but they had spent the beginning of the day
shopping, and he hadn't shown his face in there for a
year, and let's face it, it was thirteen more sales
than they'd even made in the past two weeks.  So it
felt good.  A few dimes and some quarter bags.  He
even sold a bit of his own stuff.  Real sticky bud. 
He hadn't perfected the drying yet, but at least he
got to discuss it with somebody at the music store
who'd paid for a small sample.  The guy might report
back if he had potential or if he could get his
brother (also a dealer) to slip him some tips if he
didn't mention it was a competitor doing the asking.

Silent Bob looked down at him, a few steps below, as
the bigger man unlocked and opened the door to their
apartment, a slight look of ease on his face.  He had
been hard on Silent Bob.  For a while now.  In fact,
he'd been a real bastard.  Bob had connections.  Not
their kind of connections, of course, but his own. 
From the honest lifestyle.  From the
upper-middle-class neighborhood his family had moved
quite comfortably into in his later years.  He could
skip out at any time he wanted, and that he'd stayed,
stayed while Jay had been the biggest kind of bastard
for most of a year, was so... cool of him.  Classy
like Bob, yeah.

Maybe soon they'd be pulling in good money again.  And
maybe he'd try to be more careful.  They weren't the
youngest guys in the 'hood, and they were known for
trouble.  But he could at least stop being such a
prick when it affected the both of them like that. 
This brand of remorse was not new.  It had been
festering for a while.  He'd talked himself out of
feeling sorry before, but balls to bones he was pretty
sorry for what he'd done.  He wouldn't grow up.  Even
he knew he was too demented for that.  But he could
stand to gain some consideration for his fellow Bob.

Back in the house, the answering machine blinked only
once.  Looking at the record on the caller ID, he
should have figured.  "US Gov't."  Justice, of all
people, would remember the day he was free to roam the
mall again.  Justice, it seemed, had a lot of time to
remember a whole lot of things.

This brought Jay down a bit.  Would he take her call
when it came tomorrow?  She would definitely call and
try him again.  She did it every month, now that she
hardly ever heard from him.  While in jail, he got to
hear about who she was, her history.  Fuck it, he got
to hear *everything.*  About her ex-girlfriends, about
what the prison served for dinner that night, about
the sensitivity and anti-drug courses they made her
take in there, about when her mom visited her.  She
was great.  Great body, great brains, he was sure she
was great.  But she fucking never let him talk.  It
got to the point he avoided her calls so he wouldn't
have to hear about her crocheting for the hundredth
frigging time.  She never cared what went on in his
life unless it didn't involve his friends, didn't
involve his video games and didn't involve his 'work.'
 If it was all about him, she was all about it.  Nice,
right?  If he actually had a life, it was all about
what *she* was gonna do in it when *she* got out. 
What a fucking bore.

Figuring he might talk to her tomorrow, he erased the
message without listening to it, shrugging as Bob's
eyes asked who it was.

Silent Bob let it slide and motioned questioningly to
Jay's bag from the big multimedia store.  Jay grinned
devilishly and yanked it out of the pile he'd thrown
on the couch.  He rolled from his kneeling position on
the couch next the phone, action style.  Thrust his
bag under one arm and pretended to run and gun it down
the short hall to his bedroom.

The first thing he did was pull the big calendar out
of the bag and remove the plastic wrapping. 
Pondering, then, he moseyed over to Bob's room and
grabbed a hammer out of the tool kit that spilled over
in the corner next to their old stereo system.  He
went back to his room with it and yanked a lone nail
out of the wall where a poster had once hung.  He
opened the Playmate calendar to the January where a
model from the 70's gripped her own thigh
provocatively, and nailed the thing to the wall, next
to his closet.  Then he threw the hammer aside (where
it nearly took a chunk out of the door frame) and
yanked open the closet door.

There, on a small metal desk, were eight lush, healthy
pot plants, green with a slight blue or pinkish tinge
here or there that bragged of the plant's quality and
lineage.  He inclined his head in the bright, small
space and inhaled deeply to smell the organics. 
Plants were a nuisance.  They were fucking hard to
take care of, hard to love.  But with these, he'd
managed.  These were the product of Miami bud, a
Vancouver collector, one contributor from Denmark,
long conversations, lots of wisdom, and a little bit
of trust, handed from grower to grower.  For his
second try, after many years of not bothering, they
weren't looking bad at all.  Some young, sticky
flowers bloomed on a thick, bluish plant, and he ran
the top of his hand across some leaves slowly.  And
Jesus, what was he going to do with all this?

He tweaked a bulb, watered some, and shut the closet
again.

Silent Bob's hulking form hovered in the corner of his
vision while he stared for a minute at the calendar
image.  He kicked off his shoes, then, not turning for
a while until he walked, satisfied, from the room.  On
his way back out to the living room he grabbed for
Bob's chest with one hand and his butt with the other.
 "TITS N' ASS!  Yeah!!"

Bob tried unsuccessfully to dodge the grabs, twisting
out of the way and smacking his face on the door.

x x x x x x

"I Pod Boy!"  Jay shouted at a passing kid, his shirt
stamped with the Element brand and black pants
swishing like flags.  "Yo, I Pod Kid!"  he tried
again.  This time the boy had heard him, stopped, and
pulled one headphone from his ear to stare weirdly at
the drug dealer.

"You're a pirate right?"  Jay covered one eye and
grabbed his crotch with the other hand.  "Yargh!"

The kid squinted.  "What?"

"Music pirate, right?  You're a music pirate, man. 
MP3's n' shit.  Y'know you get all that shit for free
on the Internet your fucking allowance must be burning
holes in your pockets."

The kid still looked horribly confused.

"Cheaper music means more money for drugs!" Jay
shouted.

Silent Bob shot his friend an awful look that
threatened things like dragging him into a supply
closet by his hair and beating him if he didn't quiet
down.  He settled for backhanding Jay's arm, and was
still ignored.

Meanwhile, the kid didn't look as if the statement had
made the most sense to him or been the most brilliant
of ideas, but he was amused.

"What you listenin' to, anyway?"

"Slipknot," the kid replied.

"Yeah?  Like death metal and shit?  I get you kid. 
*I* listen to fucking death rock.  Fucking metal." 
Jay gave himself devil horns and curled his tongue
nastily at a passing woman.

"I donno.  It's kind of like metal.  It's got rap and
stuff."

Hooked.  "Yeah, listen, man, you know how to listen to
that shit right?  You fucking roll a fat one, light
that bitch up and turn the stereo up.  You ever done
that?"

The kid shook his head.  Jay was spinning off fast,
now, this one was *too* easy.

"Look," Jay dropped his hands, one rifled through is
jacket pocket and he took a few steps closer to the
boy, who had dropped his headphones over one shoulder.
 He was listening.  Maybe more out of shock or
confusion than anything else, but this one was in the
bag.  "No better way," Jay said, withdrawing a short,
thick joint, "Than a few hits on this to keep rockin'.
 You look like a rocker to me, man.  You want?"

"Er.  Sure-"

"Look, man, you know what it's about."  He slid the J
back into his pocket smoothly.  Looked one way. 
Looked the other.  "Just a couple bucks, man."  He
edged in some more.

The kid licked his lips, a few nerves here.  Jay
wouldn't leave any room for it.

"A few, man, like fifteen.  Look, straight up, you
got, what, fifty bucks from grandma for Christmas? 
It's a few bucks to spare, man.  Think of all that
gift card money you're blowing on fucking CDs- shit. 
CDs are always there.  Try something new man, how many
CDs you got, like a hundred?  At twenty bucks a pop?" 
He was almost whispering to the kid, now.  Luring him
in like a moth to warm, bright porch light.  "Fifteen
bucks says I'm not wrong.  Try it, dude."

The kid looked over his shoulder, now; knew what he
was gonna do.

He sidestepped Jay and walked over to the wall, where
it cornered into the next set of shops.  He slipped
out his wallet, slipped Jay a twenty and before he
could blink, his hand was clutching a bag.

"Twenty worth, man.  Twenty says you'll like it. 
Enjoy it, man."  And Jay rounded back out to the hall
to call un-sweet nothings at some passing Latina
girls.

It was like a moment in the kid's life that had never
existed, and yet, it would be the craziest day of his
youth.  The first time he bought something he knew his
parents wouldn't like, maybe the first time he'd smoke
pot in the garage with his friends or maybe even the
first time he'd get busted for possession at school.

But it was all smoke and whispers to Jay and to Bob. 
Moments that hardly happened and, as far as their
public record was concerned, never did.  The sale was
the sale and the sale was done with.  The only
reminder, at the end of the day, would be when Bob
emptied his pockets of all the wadded cash Jay handed
to him and they'd be face to face with what they did
for the day.

Or when Bob stared at the burning contents of a bowl,
watched himself in slow motion as smoke curled from
his mouth, and watched as two thin, fine-boned hands
clasped over his, over the glass of the bong, gently
prying for their turn.

x x x x x x

So then, this was the natural state of things.  The
time on Randal's restraining order would be up and
they would be allowed to cautiously renew their weekly
activities.  But this schedule was still somehow...
off.  Somehow.  Somehow.

Jay caught himself, one day, with the most god-awful
look on his face, his lips all screwed up and his eyes
narrowed suspiciously, eyeing Bob like he was waiting
for the man to reveal his true form as The Fly, or
something.

Silent Bob was dutifully ignorant of the look.  He
pointed out a potential that Jay missed as he tried to
unscrew his screwed up thoughts.  He watched Bob deal
to a regular; a straight up transaction, 'Dude, how
you doing?'  'Wake n' bake, my man.'  'All is right
with the universe.'  Shake hands, man walks away with
the product, Jay's still standing there with his
bottom lip curling towards his chin.

He tried shaking it off before glancing both ways down
the great halls of the mall and pushing Bob on the
shoulder once for his attention.  Bob turned towards
him and Jay yanked a cigarette out from behind his
ear, motioning towards the nearest doors with it.  
Silent Bob nodded and made for the exit, Jay in tow.

Once outside, it was hard to believe that the day was
ever morning.  The lights out in the parking lot and
all along the streets were still on under dark, grey
skies.  Jay shrugged his jacket closer to himself and
popped his cigarette between his lips.  Bob ducked out
of the wind for a moment with his head behind his
trench to light his cigarette and then turned and
curved his hand around Jay's to light it.

They puffed for a while in silence.

"'S fucked up, man."

Whassat? Silent Bob inclined his head.

"We're doin' better, right?"

Better than what?

"Better with it all." Jay motioned towards the doors
of the mall, motionless for the moment, without comers
or goers.

Yeah, Bob assured with a certain nod.  Much.

Jay sighed and couldn't help letting his face go
screwed up again.  "Nothing's changed.  I mean, back
to normal and all.  Yeah, that's great.  But after all
we been through - not jus last year, man, but before
that n' that - you know, maybe we should be," he
stopped.  Looked down at Silent Bob.  "Differ'nt,
Lunchbox."

"How?"  Bob couldn't help but ask.

"Like," Jay puffed on his cigarette for a moment
before pulling it away and motioning widely, "should
we act like prophets?  Should we, I donno, act like
movie stars?"

"When... would we ever do that?"  Bob had a screwed up
face now.

He'd lost himself, there.  Jay dropped his hands to
his sides in defeat, letting his jacket fall open and
feeling the January chill all up his body.  "Noodge,
dude, I'm not trying to be *philosophical* or
anything, I just - I guess--"

He stopped there for a moment, puffing away.  "I guess
I missed this.  And I was a pissy little bitch for a
while there.  But I'm okay now."

Silent Bob's look radiated the complete opposite.  His
face betrayed his total and all-encompassing *doubt*
on that point.

Yeah, I don't think so.  Was that supposed to pass for
an apology?

Jay smirked, then, at Silent Bob's gaping disbelief. 
"Bitch, here I am trying to change our quality of life
and you look like you're gonna have me committed."

Bob rolled his eyes and looked off down the parking
lot.  He flicked the last of his cigarette away. 
"Might have to if you don't stop talking like a
grownup."

"Ppht."  Jay flicked his own cigarette butt away,
walked towards the edge of the sidewalk and behind
Bob.  "Piggy back ride."

"What?"  Plop.

Jay's thighs were gripping Bob's sides and his arms
were clutching 'round his neck before the big man had
a chance to register what was happening.  Jay's chest
pressed against his back and as if it weren't all
enough, he started *bucking* a little.

"Giddyup, Bob, we gots work to do!  We gots ta wrangle
us some freshmen."

Bob was just about falling over forwards with the
lanky mass clutching his body.  He grabbed Jay's
forearms and tried to relieve the pressure around his
neck to breathe and the bastard only squeezed his
knees and shouted "Yippie-ki-yay, motherfuckers!" at
some people exiting for their cars with looks of total
confusion.  Just as he was staggering forward, Jay
jumped off of him cackling with glee.

Bob tried to choke air back into his lungs and Jay
started slapping him on the back.  "You fucking cow. 
We need to put you on a diet plan, you fat fuck.  Look
at your lard ass."  And there it was with the ass
grabbing again.  What the fuck was this kid's problem?
 Bob closed his eyes and breathed deeply, making a
blind punch for Jay's back as he danced out of the
way, now barking with laughter.

"Yeah," Silent Bob's eyes snapped open, "and you
totally kept your girlish figure sitting on the couch
sucking down Doritos and Heineken for six months."

Jay turned back and snapped once.  "I should *ride*
you back home instead of the bus, Lunchbox."  Jay
started punctuating words with deep pelvic rolls. 
"Wouldn't *that* be some shit?  *Rolling* down the
road on my *big* *man*!"

What?!

"C'mon Hass, I gotta little *ridin'* ta catch up on. 
Yee-haw."  Jay threw a few lashes with an invisible
whip, now, along with the hip rolls.

Silent Bob stared for a minute.  So.  Not back to
normal then, eh?  Back to... abnormal?

Jay swiveled his hips back into the mall, singing with
a strange twang:  "She grew up in a Indiana town, had
a good lookin' mama, who never was around-"

Bob suddenly wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to
handle the next year.

"-But she grew up tall, an' she grew up right with
them Indiana boys on them Indiana nights."

Having regained his breath, though not exactly his
certainty of step, Silent Bob followed his boy back
into the mall.

"I was intraduced and we first started groovin' - I
said, I dig ya' baby, but I got ta keep movin'.  On." 
Jay turned, winked at Bob.  "Keep movin' on."

.end.
tired a screwin' up, tired a goin' down, tired a'
myself, tired a' this town