napping in the nude

ryan dunbar was a pugnacious, portly little prick with an insatiable appetite for purple otter pops and the complete and utter alienation of all around him. savant like in his oneness with a bumper pool cue, he displayed an almost preternatural connection to the sagging green felt banks and pin ball rubber of a romper room table. while white, he wore only fubu, often accented with a righteous gold necklace carrying the jovial, decaying smile of some forlorn sun god. the last one picked. the first one to cheat. he had the mouth of lenny bruce and the unfortunate figure of chunk. to call him a loner would infer he had some choice in the matter. he was in many ways advanced for his tender young age of 8 years. his peers hovering in that blissful state of naivete and self discovery, wise enough to consider consequence and effect, innocently incapable of premeditated malice. dunbar on the other hand was a skilled tactician in the arena of insults and put downs, a sophisticated defense mechanism he began developing out of necessity some time around the first week of preschool when it became painfully clear to him that he was not, and quite certainly never would be, like any of his classmates.