Rusty, You Never Gave Me SH*T!

(by Scott, Population 5)

It was a little past noon. The weather was fine — about sixty-nine degrees. I step outside just to see what’s going on — some noise, some commotion, the kind that rolls down the block like thunder with legs. Loud, real loud.

And then I hear it.

Tammy Marie — at it again.

She’s screaming, voice all rasp and gravel, like a chalkboard being dragged through the alley:

“You never gave me shit! You never gave me shit!”

It was ear-piercing — so raw it shook the pigeons off the wires. Her words bounced off the brick walls, echoing through the alleyways, ricocheting across city blocks like an ambulance siren that forgot to stop.

And who’s she hollering at?

Rusty.

Now Rusty — he’s a whole story in himself. A gifted guy, really — sharp, creative, too smart for the corner he’s standing on. The streets got to him early, but the light in him never completely burned out. He and Tammy call each other husband and wife, though nobody remembers them ever walking down an aisle. Maybe their vows were written in cigarette smoke and broken paychecks.

So there they are, acting out their scene for the neighborhood audience.

He’s yelling back, she’s yelling louder. Both of them at the top of their lungs.

It’s horrible — and somehow fascinating.

The sound rolls and echoes, alley to alley, like the city’s own version of live theater. I catch myself thinking — this right here, this madness — it’s better than a New York Broadway play, whatever you call it.

Tammy Marie she shattered my senses, all of them.

I had to take cover…

Then, after all the shouting and finger-pointing, Tammy yells something that hangs in the air like a question mark:

“I either gave it to him or I didn’t!”

And that’s where it ends.

Just silence.

Birds flutter back to the wires.

So the question remains —

Did she? Or did she not?

YOU NEVA EVA GAVE ME SH*T, RUSTY??!!??!!