An 80's sitcom about three friends who do all sorts of things. There is Roger, who has thick, dark glasses, and his sister Dee, who is a goddess of sarcasm. There is Dwayne, a goofy guy with an afro, and finally, Rerun. Rerun wears a red beret and red suspenders and can dance like no man can. He is the butt of fat jokes and returns them with a sharp wit. They often hang out at the local restaurant with the waitress Shirley, who has a sharp wit also and often has a battle of wits with Rerun. Although a popular sitcom which is still in syndication, most people would only recognize either Rerun or the great theme song.

Smashing glass. Screams and someone's brains on the wall. Flashing red-blue, red-blue, red-blue, red-blue.

"What's happening, Dwayne?"

As he looked down at the revolver Raj had set on the table between them Dwayne heard his words as a distant, clanging echo like from one end of a long steel tunnel humming with a hundred air conditioners that froze his clammy skin and numbed him with their relentless gigawatt drone. What was happening was that Dwayne was going to throw up. But the three of them were in Raj's tiny room upstairs and he knew that if he vomited he risked splashing Rerun's always-spotless Adidas, and then Dwayne would lose teeth. He swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked and made himself meet Raj's eyes.

Force a grin. Play the fool. "I think Rerun should go first," he said, tossing a thumb at where Rerun stood as always with his back to the wall, eyes hard slits between rolls of fat. They flicked down to Dwayne then back to Raj. His expression did not change, though Dwayne could see his fists clench slightly.

Raj leaned back in his chair, peering over the top of his Buddy Holly glasses. "It's not motherfucking Rerun I'm offering the motherfucking gun to, Dwayne. Now are you going to pick it up or what?"

Dwayne felt sweat beading up on his forehead, soaking the armpits of his shirt. "I..."

"I what?" Raj screamed. "'I am a punk'? 'I am a sissy'? Is that what you're trying to tell me, Dwayne?" Raj slammed his hand down on the table. His eyes burned through Dwayne for what felt like a full minute. "God damn," Raj spat, and picked up the revolver. Pressing it to the side of his head he pulled the trigger three times, click click click just like Santa's reindeer. Then without missing a beat he turned it around and held it out grip-first toward Dwayne.

A smile crept across Rerun's face. "That shit was old school," he chuckled. Raj simply looked at Dwayne. Trembling, Dwayne reached out and took the gun, feeling its weight in his hand, the grip warm.

"Now are you going to show me you're not a punk? Duh-waaaaaaayne?" Raj crooned his name in a falsetto voice as Dwayne stared at the piece in his hand. One bullet. That's how they did it in the movies, one bullet in six chambers and Raj...

at the other end of that long steel tunnel grinning like the Devil and singing Dwaaaaaayne, show-me-what-you-got Dwaaaaaaayne

...and Raj had pulled the trigger three times already and Rerun stood looking down at him with a gleam in his eyes Dwayne knew from the old days when they walked past Mrs. Florence's barking dog on the way home from school and it turned up three days later in a soggy box on her doorstep. Three chambers left.

He raised the gun and pointed it where the bridge of Raj's glasses met the bridge of Raj's nose. Raj's eyes widened.

Dwayne pulled the trigger three times.

Click click click.

Raj was laughing. Raj actually rocked with laughter, slapping his knee with one hand and wiping his eyes with the other. "God damn Dwayne, but you are a cold as shit motherfucker. You think I'm going to let you point a loaded gun at your head in my room? I live here! I don't want," he flapped his hand at the wall, "brains all over the place. And you know Dee would take that straight to Mom."

"You're crazy," Dwayne whispered. His hand was shaking. He dropped the gun to the hardwood floor where it landed with a thunk and a slight splintering sound.

"Don't ever forget it." Raj looked up at Rerun. "You got the bag?" Dwayne knew the bag: the stained and faded athletic bag from Rerun's closet. Today it would hold masks, gloves, tire irons. For the job.

"In the car."

"Then we're ready." Raj grinned. "Let's show them what's happening."

Smashing glass. Screams and someone's brains on the wall. Flashing red-blue, red-blue, red-blue, red-blue.

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