A Gangster Opera

' A sunset is extremely un-natural in it's very nature.
Not only does it signal the ending of the day (which is completely unreliable), but I never seem to hear and Indiana-esque theme, no matter how many times I ride into it'

Frank had a lot of deep thoughts like this. He liked the way he thought.
It sounded like the perfect narration to the inevitable biopic about his grand life.
And by life, i mean soon to be future life.
And by grand I mean that he will become the biggest pot fiend ever to walk down the streets of Detroit.

As his wrist rested upon the cool sheet of white that was the blackboard, he completely forgot that he was supposed to be writing simple algebra.

'Back to the problem at hand I guess'
Graph the quadratic equation: x= -3 +or - the square root of 3(squared) minus 4 times 7 times 1 all over 2 times 7.

'OK....(Lamaze breath)...three... times three is.....Aw shit.'
He needed to erase the sloppy 5.
Instead of just grabbing an eraser, his brain opted to just using his sleeve.

His brain immediately regretted that decision.

Now there was chalk all over his black longsleve.

'How come the chalk seems to only attract to black clothing?

It's like jocks to a bunsen burner.'

All the dust seemed to be army crawling up his arm, like a sickness.

His whole forearm was now covered in a smokey haze.

' Where to wipe it, where to wipe it?'

His crotch seemed to be the only clean place left, so it would have to do.

eh. eh. eh.

What is that feeling!?

"FRANK!!! WHY AREN'T YOU WRITING!!!"

He turned around, with now a very large white powdered area on the front of his pants.

Sort of like a donut with no hole in the center.

Every eye in the entire classroom opened wide until their lids split.

Frank had never been so embarrassed in his life.

It seemed as if everyone was completely fixated on him, not even pretending that they weren't staring.

But they were not staring at him. As a matter of fact no one was even in the classroom.

That's because this had happened a week earlier, and instead of staring while sitting in their seats, they now stare in the hallway. A hallway in which his head is throbbing and his blood is pooling on the floor.

Frank's jaw cracks as it is hit with another punch.

The plaster was lucky not to crack as his head smacks off the studs. His skin rattles as his skull whiplashes, almost bending into his back. He hits the ground not even losing his momentum.

Splots of red start to form in his irises. All he can do is stare up at those tiny black fists.

Not to sound racist, but the whole gang looks alike.

The only way to tell them apart is by the size of their fists.

Jackie has the largest fists, big and red, since he does some amateur boxing on the side (a suggestion from his counselor). Bobby O. has the next largest fists. Then Tame-runna.

Bobby S. has a least a centimeter less girth than him. And Frank has the smallest fists in the entire group, which is funny since he is bigger than Bobby O.

Even though his fists are tiny, they hurt the most since all the power is focused on one place. Why the hell did Frank have to have the same name as the biggest s*** in the school?

"Get up, you punker little b*t*h! My fists ain't even begun to make REAL marks in that pretty whitey emo ass of yours!"

Frank really was white. His naturally greazy black hair didn't help him look to tan.

All he could do was slmash it down to one side, which gave him no choice than to hang out with the ugc crowd.

'Gum? ...No. A tooth'

(spew). 'Damn...To bad I'm not a Flyer'