Word on the street, Jimmy Jekyll got into a fight with his boss. He punched the bastard square in the kisser knocking off a few teeth, it was majestic in a karma sort of way. He spent two months for battery, only two because Jimmy threatened to expose his boss’s under-the-table deals. Next thing I know is Jimmy serving parole at a grocery store, he’d spend half the time listening to Korn and the other half reading about fertilizers.

This is now the life of Jimmy, the once-was-a-premed, the straight-A shooter with a major in philosophy and math. This is him never asking teens for an ID. This is him topping whatever’s in the pastry aisle with his signature DNA gravy. And this is him serving time again for breaking and entering.

If I didn’t know Jimmy, I’d say his head is a few fuses short. If I didn’t know him, I’d say the fucker grew a brain tumor. If I didn’t witness him manipulate the judge into a loophole and then charm the jury like a Hollywood fucker, I would’ve said that Jimmy is differently-abled. Only he wasn’t. I know a smart fucker when I see one. I can also smell the stink of malice behind a handsome suit.

I knew Jimmy was up to no good, his bedroom walls were the maps of metro transits and stations, crossing and uncrossing from one corner to the other. And that fertilizer studying, it was put to practice in the plastic-sealed bathroom tub.

Jimmy goes to work and I see him smile. He goes to the barber with his unnerving smile, his kisser showing no sign of fatigue. Today must be the day, but what the hell can I do?

Jimmy shaves it bald and barber comments on the now-visible craniotomy scar. Jimmy says he got it in Mexico, a treatment for a horrible parasite that caused him weakness. It can’t be completely eradicated without causing permanent neurological damage, but it can be debilitated.

The fucker notices that I’m staring at him, but understand me, what can I do?!

Today is a good day, Jimmy shouts. He’s always been a bitter winner, but the fucker didn’t notice me grabbing a scissor from the countertop. Jimmy starts singing and the barber awkwardly laughs.

I stared at the fucker dead in the eyes, Jimmy, we’re going to die.