June 2 — 5:44am
The sun shines through the dirty curtains of William "PorkChop City" Jobberson's one-bedroom apartment on Dawson Street in Oakland. William rolls out of bed, cursing the fact that he moved his arms too fast, as he catches a whiff of his body odor. As his nickname indicates, William is cleary on the downturn of his life. He knows he gets a little more out of shape each day. But whatever. He'll get his life together one day. But the Pens are down 2-0 to the Wings. Nothing else matters right now. After taking what should have been a 5-minute crap which turned into a 25-minute epic session because he was playing Myst on his iPhone, PorkChop City, a nickname he had earned after eating an entire pig at his local church's luau, puts on his clothes and heads out the door.
He dejectedly walks toward his blue 1985 Ford Tempo. He kicks a loose pebble down the sidewalk on his way. All of a sudden, a man dressed in a red trenchcoat steps in front of him. PorkChop is stunned. The man, speaking with a thick Swedish accent, pushes the man to the ground and decrees, "You're going to give me a ride to work today."
"Like hell I am," says William, wasting his energy quota for the day by pushing the man aside.
Out of nowhere, a police officer steps in and tells William that, yes, the man in the red trenchcoat
is entitled to his car, his girlfriend, and the last two Pop-Tarts in William's kitchen cabinet. The police officer turns away, and the man in the red trenchcoat
elbows William in the mouth, sending his iPhone flying. As William reaches for his phone, another man in red puts his hand over it. The police officer's attention had now been diverted to William yet again, telling William, "I'll allow it."
Robbed of his phone, his car, his girlfriend, and his Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tarts, William contemplates just lying there on the sidewalk and waiting for someone to pee on his face. But what's the use? He'd probably get arrested for conspiring to commit public urination. Just got to get up, find some change in the depths of his pockets, and catch a bus. He was already late for work.
It's a busy morning on the Southside. Betty Montoya grabs a smudged glass, opens her refrigerator, delicately pulls down on the lever of her Brita water thing, and fills up her glass to take her morning-after pill. After the Pens' loss on Sunday night, Betty has gone into self-destruction mode. She's spent the last two nights at Jack's Bar getting railed by bikers. Nothing else matters right now.
Betty steps out to her shady bus stop and waits for the normal 6:35. Right on cue, she sees the bus turn the corner near the Carson City Saloon. A 1996 red Ford Escape pulls out in front of the bus and pretends to stall out. The bus can't get around it. A policeman stops at the scene, surveys the situation, and lets the driver of the Escape get behind the wheel of the bus, as the original bus driver gets handcuffed and shoved into the back of a police cruiser.
The bus makes its way to Betty's stop. Just as Betty goes to step on the bus, the driver closes the door on her face, as the ubiquitous men in red trenchcoats start elbowing Betty in the mouth and boobs. Betty stumbles to the ground; her supple breasts absorbing most of the blows. She pulls herself up to one knee and peers into the bus. The driver looks an awful lot like Elroy from The Jetsons. The driver laughs and takes off. Betty takes off one of her Jimmy Choos and chucks it at the bus. The driver feels the shoe hit his back window and he sends the bus careening into a ditch, flipping end over end. Homeland Security is called to the scene.
One-shoe Betty jumps onto the next bus that comes by. Not may seats were available, and she chooses the first one she can get to. She immediately regrets her seat choice, as she is enveloped by a stench of porkchops, urine, and Old-Spice-scented body odor.
"Hi," says Betty.
"What's up? I'm William," says the man.
The two begin to talk about the Pens and share their frustrations. PorkChop likes how Betty doesn't have generic views like LGP member Kovy27. And even though PorkChops' moobs jiggle like jello with every bump of the bus ride, Betty starts taking a liking to this stinky character.
"Can they do it?" asks William.
"Hell yeah," says Betty. "I've been watching this team all season. They will get it done."
"I don't know," quips William. "It looks pretty bleak. Might as well just pack it up."
"William," says Betty, turning to William, "I've spent the last two nights in a pool of self-loathing, letting random guys who were just in the right place at the right time come back to my house and give me the business. Why? Simply because the Penguins had lost the first two games of this series. If I thought it was over, these last two nights would have been meaningless. But I know that for great things to happen, you first have to go through some rough times."
William grabs a pen out of his pocket and opens his palm. "What bar do you hang out at?"
"Jack's Bar down on the Southside," answers a puzzled Betty. "Why?"
William comes back with, "No reason."
"Ohhhh," says Betty in a 'a-ha' moment. "So you expect the Pens to lose tonight and then rail me. Is that it?"
"Not at all," retorts William.
Betty stands up, as she sees her stop is approaching.
"Don't bother," she says. "When the Pens win tonight, I'll be having celebratory sex with my husband."
She walks toward the front of the bus then onto the street.
William watches her from his seat.
He was about to focus his attention back to his crappy life when he sees an 18-wheeler eliminate Betty as she crosses the street.
PorkChop City looks at Betty's lifeless body and then gets a look at the 18-wheeler driving way.
In the dirt and grime that had accrued on the back door of the semi, he sees someone had scrawled "Pens in Six."