"People in hell want ice water kid. You 'aint got the talent."
"I don't need talent." Again, trying to maintain that cold expressionless factual timbre. I hope he's buying it, because I'm starting to lose faith in myself. "I need a teacher."
"Do I look like a goddamn professor?"
Okay, he's got me there. Welland is pretty far from your Oxford type. Scraggly beard, stick thin, and rocking a Grateful Dead T-shirt and a 9mm on his hip he barely even looks like your average runner. To be honest, he doesn't really look like he belongs anywhere.
"You look like a loser with no family, and nothing to pass on in this life." The words slip out before I can stop them, still holding that stoney tone.
He stares at me. Anger flows into his face. I fucked up. My legs tense, ready to move if he goes for the nine. Eternity plays out while I wait for him to decide to shoot me.
"You're an asshole, kid." He spins in his chair, putting his back to me. Shit.
He spins back, holding what I think is a floppy disk. He chucks it at my head.
"Scram. If... and I don't mean when, I mean IF... you crack that, you get another one. Now get out of my face." And he turns back around. The door closes automatically between us. What just happened?
Did... he just give me a gig? Shit, where's the thing!?
I grab the, yeah, it's a floppy disk... who even has these? Off the floor and dust it off.
Son of a bitch.... Where am I going to find a floppy drive?
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