I arrived at the hospital bright and early on Saturday morning. My mom gave me a ride since she had to be at work at 8am anyway and it was more or less on the way. I would usually get out of bed at 9am on Saturday, watch cartoons, and slowly wake up -at least that’s what I was thinking about while half asleep, as I sat shotgun next to my mom, while she drove, and put her makeup on at every stop light we hit.
If you met my mom, you would think that she was like the first lady of the white house, or the queen of England, or a model; she was always dressed in nice and expensive looking clothes; Mom accessorized like no other. She was very fastidious about her appearance, which was good though, it had rubbed off on me – I too, dressed to impress.
My mom was a counselor or therapist, whatever you want to call it, so I thought about telling her how crazy my emotions had been about Boogie Bob; about how I was happy one minute and sad the next, and how I couldn’t stop thinking about Bob’s facticity and such, however, I refrained. I knew that would be like opening up a big old can of worms at seven thirty in the morning and I didn’t feel like opening up that can. I could barely put one solid thought in my mind that early in the morning and I didn’t want mom trying to put a million more thoughts in my brain while I was still trying to clear the cobwebs out of my morning head.
I knew I would be alright though, I was just a little curious about things like: Should I walk into Bob’s room with a big old smile on my face that said: it’s all good in the hood, life is great. Which maybe that would be considered fake because really I had been concerned about Bob’s bed becoming empty one day. And what if he didn’t even say goodbye? And did I want him to say goodbye? Or did I want him to say, “I’ll see you again.” You see my dilemma?
When we had finally arrived at the hospital, Mom said, “Have fun visiting your friend sweetie.” Which made me think: If mom only knew I was going to the cancer unit and hanging out at deaths door she probably would have said something different. But I was glad she didn’t say something different.
Since I had arrived at the hospital early that morning, I took my time walking. I was thinking about how cancer patients were faced with thoughts that people usually didn’t have to think about until they were at least one hundred years old. Cancer patients must face Mr. Reaper square in the freakin’ eyes; he’s quite the pernicious fellow that forces you to contemplate it all. Then I thought about Moms comment and I thought: yes, I will have fun visiting my friend Boogie Bob.
Before I could even ask the lady at the hospitals information table any questions she said, “I like your necklace!” I had worn my “NSR” belt buckle nameplate around my neck on the outside of my jacket.
I told her, “Thanks Doll face.” I never had used the expression “doll face” before, it kind of just slipped out. I think it was the way she had complimented me that made me flirt. This girl had to be at least thirty years old and she had no rings on her fingers, I happened to notice, so that’s probably why I flirted with her. If she had been my age I probably would have been a stone cold chicken. Then I told her, “I’m here to see my buddy Boogie Bob, he told me to ask for Robert Charles’ room, kid’s cancer unit, not that I’m a kid, I practically have my driver’s license,” I said with more flirtation.
She told me, “Give me a minute cutie, while I look up his room number – no one’s answering on the unit,” she said while holding the phone to her ear.
“Sounds good darling,” I requited. – Boy, I can really be a flirt when I know it won’t lead to anything.
The information desk girl, Phoebe, told me while she was waiting on hold, that she knew Robert Charles. She said she had to work the night shift last week and, “There was a boy that was break dancing right there,” Phoebe said as she pointed at a section of smooth tile. “He was spinning on his head, quite a few times, and his mom kept saying: that’s enough Bobby … and what did you call him? Break dancing Bob?”
“His name is Boogie Bob, but yep, I’m sure we are talking about the same Bob,” I said.
Phoebe whispered to me, “Hang on sweetie,” while taking the phone away from under her chin and replacing it to her ear.
“Okay, thank you Darlin’,” she said into the phone.
“Robert Charles room number is 2410. Just follow the brown tape on the floor all the way to the 2nd set of elevators. Then go up to the 2nd floor. Then follow the blue tape until you see the sign that says Pediatric and Adolescent cancer unit, okay cutie,” she said while twisting her hair in circles. This made me wonder if she was flirting with me, or if she just wanted to play with her hair. I had no idea about that kind of stuff.
I told her thanks, smiled, and started walking down the brown taped hallway. Then she yelled out, “I really do like your necklace.”
So I yelled back but in a shy way, “I really do think you’re hot too!”
“Thanks sweetie,” she said.
I could be really bold when I was walking away from a girl.
As I was walking towards Bob’s unit, I thought about how brown tape was really a depressing color of tape to have on the floor, it reminded me of brown dead leaves that fall off the trees in the autumn. As I got on the elevator, which smelled like skunks and lemon cleaning products, I remembered how I had first asked Bob to take off his hood while we were on an elevator at the mall.
I exited the elevator and started following the blue tape, which made me wonder: who the heck picked out these depressing tape colors that were on the floor of the hospital. I wasn’t trying to feel blue or maudlin but having depressing colored tape on the floor really didn’t lift my spirits very well.
I nervously hoped that I wouldn’t hear the term, “code blue” yelled out loud while I was at the hospital that day. – And I was not exactly sure what “code blue” meant, but I knew that it was nothing good. The blue tape on the floor, for some reason, had me thinking about blue faces too.
I had to get buzzed into the cancer unit where I was greeted by an expressionless male nurse who started giving me the rundown on all of the things that I needed to do before I went in to see my buddy Bob (or Robert as he kept impersonally calling him. Which I didn’t like, it really started to sound like he was just another name or just another number or just another dude when he called him “Robert.”)
“First, you have to wash your arms and hands very thoroughly. Then grab this bag. Inside the bag you will find clothing that looks like hospital scrubs. There are coverings in the bag that you will need to put over your shoes. Plus there is garb for you to put over your pants and shirt as well; along with sterile gloves, a mask and an item that looks like a shower cap. Please put all of these items on before entering the unit,” he said monotonically.
As I was putting on all of those items, it was really starting to make me feel the gravity of the situation. It felt much heavier to me, like a ton of bricks heavy –as I was putting on the garb.
When I was done putting on my cancer unit garb I left the dressing room and entered The Cancer Unit with extra weight on my shoulders. I started looking on the walls as I walked in the direction of Bob’s room. There were pictures of kids and teens on the walls that had “beat cancer.” There were also pictures on the walls of people climbing mountains, swimming, playing tennis, baseball, and junk like that. I had noticed how everyone in the pictures were smiling too, they were all happy, and all of the people in the pictures had hair. I found that rather ironic. I suppose they didn’t want to put pictures on the wall of the people who didn’t make it. I suppose they didn’t want pictures of people on the wall that were bald, gaunt, and emaciated either. I mean, they didn’t have any of those types of pictures. I got a little mad to myself about it, to be honest with you; I mean, don’t the people who didn’t make it matter? The pictures on the walls seemed to send the message that only the people who mattered were the ones who had made it. Yet, at the same time, I got it; they were trying to inspire hope. But what about the people who didn’t make it. Don’t they matter? Well, that’s what I griped about silently in my head as I neared Bob’s room.
Room 2410: I entered Bob’s room and he quickly jumped up from laying down to sitting. “Sup Boogie Bob,” I excitedly said.
“Phil K Swift, sup kid,” Bob said as he looked up at the clock on the wall and grinned, “You’re early! …. Cool, I’ll skip my treadmill run this morning.”
I started to apologize but Bob cut me off, “No I’m glad you’re here kid, come on in, sit down. I’m usually up early, the nurses are always coming in here checking my blood pressure or pumping my veins with some of this friggin’ bull effin’ shee ott, and waking me up anyways.” I leaned over to Bob and we exchanged one of those half hugs that guys give each other; like were Bro’s. We are Bro’s and it was a Hug, so sometimes we call it a “BRUG.”
“What have you been up to?” Bob asked. Even though, he already knew. We had been talking everyday on the phone since we had met.
I told Bob about all of the Breakin’ at the dance and how I had “rap attacked” that dude Randal last Wednesday, which Bob really got a big old bang out of hearing it again. Then I told him that Devon didn’t even show up and stuff, and he was just as pissed as I was. He even called him a chump, just like my old man did. Even though I already told him all of this stuff on Thursday and Friday, he didn’t care. He was just as happy to hear it all again in person.
Boogie Bob got this inspired look in his eyes and said, “You know Swift kid, with all of this talk about breakin’ that you did this week, you’ve really got me into the mood to throw on down with some breakin’.” Bob started to get this cocky smile and cavalier look in his eye that I had become very familiar with that day I had met him at Dorktown mall. It was the exact look that I had remembered most about Boogie Bob.
He pressed the “nurse help button” and told me, “I usually just yell for her, but my voice is rough, seeing how I hadn’t had my morning popsicles just yet. Anyway kid, they have this room down at the end of the hall; it’s like a family visitors section or something. There is just a couch and a few chairs in there. We can move them around and do some breakin’ in there! … But sshhh,” he said as he put his index finger to his lips.
A voice came over the intercom, “Yes Bob?”
“Can you come in here Mary?”
“OK,” she said.
“Are you going to be able to break with all of those needles and tubes sticking in your arms and such?” I asked quietly.
“I’ll figure it out,” he said with a wan smile, “I haven’t really been in the mood to break ever since I got here …but I am now kid.”
“The receptionist at the information desk told me that you were throwing down with head spins the night you checked in,” I said as I high fived him.
Bob smiled and said, “No kidding, she told you that? YEP, that was the last time I had rocked out.”
The nurse came into Bob’s room and Bob asked her to unhook him from all of his machines for a few minutes because he wanted to go down the hall to the family room and hang out for a bit. The nurse, whom Bob called, “Nurse Mary” unhooked the various lines and tubes and re-hooked them to this portable “IV stand” that made it possible for Bob to become mobile. He maneuvered the “IV stand” around his bed with what I presumed to be bags of chemo, saline, and god only knew what else were in those “intravenous bags.” Then we strode out of his room with a B-boy, top rock, saunter about ourselves as Bob pulled his I.V. stand.
I followed Bob down the hallway as the squeaky wheels from the “I.V. Stand” that carried his bags of medicine led the way. I asked him, “How are you going to break with that contraption alongside of you and all of those tubes coming out of you?”
Bob whispered, “Sshhhh!” as he scrunched his face, “I’ve got a secret,” he said as he looked at the pictures on the walls that I had looked at when I had first walked into the cancer unit. Moments later he scoffed, “Where are the pictures of the breakers?” But I didn’t say anything. Then he started laughing through his nose; you know the noise it makes when you’re blowing air out of your nose? That’s how Bob sounded when he laughed, quick repetitive bursts of air rushing out of his nostrils. It started making me laugh. And for the first time, I had forgotten that we were in the cancer unit.
We walked into the family room where cartoons were playing. Bob immediately directed me to move the chairs and sofa out of the way. The room was at least fifteen feet by fifteen feet and was rather boring to be honest with you, save for the Woody Woodpecker cartoon that was playing in the background.
Bob started unhooking his lines from the IV bags and told me, “I’ve watched the nurses unhook and re-hook them enough times that I know how to do it. I’ve just never had a reason to do it before.”
Bob finished unhooking all of his lines from the I.V. Stand, which were three different bags. Bob then wound the I.V. chords nicely and tied them together around his waist.
“They let you break with all of those chords and needles in you and stuff?” I asked naively.
Bob replied, “Cuck Fancer, Chuck Femotherapy. I’m a breaker! I’m not one of those cancer patients. I’m just a Neighborhood Street Rocker who happens to be getting some medicine for cancer,” he said as I high fived him.
“Right on,“ I said, as I couldn’t argue with that logic.
Bob got this devilish look in his eye and asked, “Do you have one of those winter hats on you kid?”
I reached my hand inside of my hospital scrub pants to get to my street clothes which were underneath. Bob jokingly stopped me and sarcastically said, “I don’t want a jimmy hat you sicko, I want a winter hat.”
It was nice to see Bob still joking around. I laughed and then continued to pull out the winter hat that I had in my front pocket of my pants, and handed it to Bob, “Very funny,” I said.
We both started laughing our asses off and Bob was still doing that air blow laugh through his nose thing like a madman. It made me wonder if he always laughed like that.
Then in true Boogie Bob form he dove and spiraled to his head like a tornado and started tapping around in head spins. You’d have thought that Bob had been practicing all day and all week; he didn’t miss a beat. Bob revolved around about ten times, with his hospital gown covering his body from his waist to his head with his underwear and bald and boney legs showing and everything. All I could see was two spinning legs, underwear, and a hospital gown that covered his head, but it was Bboying at its finest.
“I’m sure the hospital didn’t account for people doing head stands or head spins while wearing those hospital gowns and getting chemo and such. But in the future maybe they can redesign those hospital gowns for breakin’ patients, so I don’t have to look at your drawers,” I told Bob jokingly.
When Bob was done head spinning; he smiled wanly and said, “This chemo Shiznit Effin’ Sucks, let me sit down for a minute.”
I sat down right next to Bob and I started digging into my hospital scrub shirt. Bob started looking at me as if I was strange. I finally grabbed a hold of it and pulled it out. “Check this Shee-ott out my brother!” I showed him my “NSR” nameplate which was now donned around my hospital scrub shirt.
Bob was in awe, with his mouth opened wide he said, “Dude I want one, you’ve got to get me one, I’ll have my mom bring money next time she comes. You’ve got to hook me up!” It was like Christmas morning in Bob’s eyes as we sat in the family room of the cancer unit. Bob then added, “That is the bad-est to the bone-est bling-est thing-est that I have ever seen-est.”
“Now it’s my turn,” I said as I dove to the ground into windmills, which turned into pennies that evolved into a couple of businessman copters. I went for as long as I could until I lost my steam and fell to the ground.
Bob clapped, “You’ve figured out the no handers, huh kid?” I then joined Bob on the couch. Bob immediately stood back up and pounced into tornadic head spins again. He tapped around a few times at a fast rate, then he purposely slowed it down for effect, and did a few slow-mo - no hander’s, and then he began tapping ferociously fast again.
In the midst of Bob doing his head spins, an austere looking male nurse with a dildo demeanor walked into our “break-room,” and gave us a stink face. It was the nurse that had told me the rules of the cancer unit and handed me my scrubs when I had first got to the unit. “Nurse Marvin, I aint starving,” Bob said to him after he had stopped head spinning, “I thought I saw white shoes while I was revolving around upside down,” Bob added.
Marvin’s hair was combed to the side like a comb-over but it wasn’t a comb-over and I could tell by the way he had looked at us that we were about to get a lecture. He sighed and gave us a parental look. Then the straight laced white shoed nurse said, “You can’t do that Bob.”
Bob stood up.
Then I said, “But he is, and he can, and he was rocking it strong!”
This made Bob smile.
Nurse Mr. Goody two shoes, in an imploring tone said, “Bob you are a cancer patient receiving chemotherapy and we must be responsible to treat you effectively.”
I quixotically yelled, “Yo man Boogie Bobs not a cancer patient! He’s a breaker, who happens to be getting chemo. He’s a Neighborhood Street Rocker!”
“It’s all good Marvin, I know you’re just doing your job,” Bob said as he sat down to catch his breath again.
I continued spouting at the nurse, “Can you rock out head spins like that?”
The party pooping nurse meekly said, “No.”
I sarcastically retorted, “Then maybe you’re the cancer chemo patient around here? Maybe you’re the one who needs medication. My boy Bob can do head spins for days; he’s as healthy as a stallion. We will ring for you if we need you. You can go now,” I said tight lipped, with my chin flexed out, while sporting bug eyes to boot.
The nurse left without saying a word. Bob high fived me and I dove to the floor like a quarter had been flicked. Bob extolled, “You’ve really got those pennies going kid, your pennies are up and running!” I bent my knee, transitioned into a half of a knee spin, and then posed.
Over the next hour Bob and I just sat back on the couch and shot the Shiznit around while trippin’ off the Woody Woodpecker cartoons. Half of the time we took turns mocking Nurse Marvin who tried to rain on our parade. We both tried to come up with the nerdiest, mocking, and goody two shoed voices that we could. In a lisp voice I said, “Umm hey there fella, you can’t do that break dance stuffy things.”
Then Bob one upped me and used this real moronic sounding tone, “You can’t do those spinner ma bob thingy’s, you might get cancer or something – oh wait a minute, I already have cancer,” Bob jokingly said as he pretended to be Nurse Marvin scolding him. We made sure to speak loud enough so anybody in the vicinity could hear us. We didn’t care, we were having too good of a time.
Moments later Bob’s doctor entered our “break room” with a stone face and very matter of fact mien and said, “Bob we need you to get back to your room, we are adding another medication and we need to draw some blood. Thank you.”
Bob replied, “Yes sir.”
Bob looked at me and said, “He’s an okay doctor, lets head back. I was thinking about heading back anyway, I have a surprise for you,” he said while grinning with full moon eyes, he would have been raising his eyebrows too, if the chemo hadn’t taken ‘em.
We entered Bob’s room when moments later the angelic looking Nurse Mary, who was wearing a crucifix, and all white, started hanging up the new Devilish red liquid I.V. bag for Bob’s chemotherapy treatment. Out of nowhere Bob prosaically said, “They are shooting me up with poison.” I gave him a look of no-way and then he said, “They are trying to kill all of the cells in my body; good cells and bad cells alike, and then they are hoping that when they are all dead, the good ones can outlast the bad ones, and make me cancer free.”
“Hey Mary quite contrary,” Bob said to the nurse.
“Yes Bob,” she said with a warm smile.
“Can you hook up Phil the Funky Groove King Swift and me with some popsicles,” Bob said with his brow-less brow raised.
“Sure thing Bob,” Nurse Mary said.
Nurse Mary walked out after she finished taking his vitals, then Bob looked at me and said, “I told you I had a surprise for you my brother, these popsicles are the Shiznit my man, they are absolutely the best. Truth is, I can’t really hold down much food these days, so the popsicles are really all I’ve got,” Bob said in a dampened tone. “Until you came today Phil, popsicles were the only thing that I really got excited about around here, other than my parents coming to visit me,” he told me sincerely.
“Yo dude, when you get out of here we are going to get into some break battles or contests or talent shows or something … When are you getting out of here anyway?” I asked.
“I heard that I may get out of here as soon as three weeks,” he said and then paused for a moment. I could tell he wanted to say something, so I kept quiet. “You reminded me that I was a breaker, not just some cancer dude in a hospital getting chemo. I don’t want people treating me as if I’m dying or a dead guy walking. I mean, we are all dying at some point or another. It happens to everybody, not just cancer patients. But you know what kid? … I want people to treat me like I’m a breaker, that’s all. I am a B-boy and that’s that.”
“Okay boys, dessert is served,” Nurse Mary said as she brought in the popsicles.
As she handed me my Popsicle I said, “I guess I will have to take my mask off to eat this thing, right?”
“Technically you don’t really need the mask on, just everything else, unless you’re worried that you have a cold that you could pass onto Bob and the other patients” Nurse Mary told me.
Then Bob jumped in, “Yep, I have no immunity, don’t give me any colds or anything, especially cancer, don’t give me any cancer,” Bob said smart assedly.
Mary walked out and Bob said, “Yo Phil raise that popsicle up high!”
I looked at him with a quizzical look on my face but I did it anyway. “Wazup?” I asked.
“Cheers my brother, Cheers,” Bob said as he touched my Popsicle with his Popsicle.
As we clanged Popsicles together I told Bob, “Awesome, right on, cheers back at ya, I have never toasted with popsicles before,” I said out of surprise.
“Now you have kid, now you have. It’s the most exciting time around this joint, Popsicles; I love ‘em,” Bob said as he slurped it down.
Other than talking about breakin’ and popsicles, Bob’s eyes really lit up when he started telling me about his girlfriend. “There’s this girl here in our unit that I run treadmills with, I call her purple bandana girl, she loves that, purples her favorite color. Anyway, kid, she is the hottest bald chick you have ever seen in your entire life. No bull shee-otting. Bald is beautiful,” Bob said.
“I’ll have to meet her sometime,” I said.
Grubby mitts off bro, she’s bald, she’s beautiful and she’s mine,” he said.
While Bob and I were eating popsicles he told me, “This is my second round of chemotherapy, once they get me into remission again, I will do some radiation treatments, and then they will give me my second bone marrow transplant or BMT, the doctors call it ‘BMT’ with their stuffy ass beards and their stoic breaths and such.” Then Bob took a deep breath and continued, “I was in remission for a few months but then this shit came back; the leukemia came back, so they’re trying to get rid of it again. I’m hoping to be out of here within three weeks,” he said warily.
Bob stopped talking for a few minutes but his heavy eye lids and his tensed lips told me the rest of the story before he even told it. He said, “I’m getting tired of them frying my body with poisons. I mean, check this out Phil, they are putting poisons in my body to make me better. Sup with that?”
I was rendered speechless but Bob filled in the gaps for me, “I’m getting worn and tired of all the pain and sadness that I’m putting my family and friends through, especially my girl Bella. I wish Bella didn’t have to deal with a situation like this.
But you know this time is it! When I am done with all of this chemo and radiation and bone marrow transplanting and stuff; we are hitting the mall, the rink, and wherever the breakers are … I am there,” Bob said with a half hearted brow-less smile. I almost got the feeling that he didn’t truly believe his own pep talk but he wanted me to believe it. He didn’t want me to worry.
“Well my brother, I’ve got to make like Geeta,” I said.
“What’s Geeta?” Bob asked.
“Geeta Eff Outta Here,” I said with an added Chicago style accent. (I grew up in the suburbs, so I didn’t necessarily talk like a Southsider as my old man did.)
Bob smiled big and rapidly laughed through his nose, almost snorting.
“But for real, I’ve got to get going. I have to start making my way up to McCollum Park. I wish you could come with bro, but it sounds like you will be joining us in about three weeks, right?” I questioned Bob with hope.
“Yes Swift kid, I will be done with this place in about three weeks. Thanks for stopping by Phil,” Bob said earnestly.
“It was awesome Bob! By the end of the day I will have danced with all of us Neighborhood Street Rockers. But hey - you know what? - I can stop by again next weekend. My mom works across the street in the medical building as a therapist, so I’ll hitch a ride with her again. So I’ll catch up with you next week. I’m Audi five thousand,” I said all slick-like.
I pitched my empty Popsicle stick into the garbage can and put my surgical mask back on.
“You don’t have to wear the mask on the way out,” Bob said with a snicker through his nose.
“It’s cool bro, I kind of feel like wearing it for some reason,” I said prosaically. I was too nervous to take it off until I got out of the cancer unit. I mean, what if I was on the verge of a cold and I didn’t even know it.
Bob grabbed my “NSR” nameplate and groped it like it was pure gold. He practically pet it like you’d pet a dog, and then he told me, “You’ve got to get me one of those kid!”
“Of course my man, of course, I’ll hook it up,” I said.
As I walked out of his room he said, “See ya kid Swifty.”
“I will see you again,” I said.
As I was exiting the cancer unit I sort of got into this robotic or zombie type state of mind. I mean, I knew I was supposed to take off the scrubs, the hat, the mask, the footie’s, the gloves, and stuff, but I didn’t; I couldn’t. I just made my way down the hallways wearing my cancer visiting garb, while following the blue and then brown lines on the floor.
It wasn’t as depressing on the way out. I think visiting Bob was like therapy in and of itself, because I really felt better afterwards. Now that I had seen him break again and now that I had heard him say that he would be outta there in three weeks, I felt much better. But something had me puzzled. Something I had heard his doctor say over the phone as I was walking out didn’t make me feel all that great. But I hoped it was nothing. I mean, I didn’t know all that much about medical terminology, so I tried not to worry too much.
By the time I had made my way outside of the hospital I decided that I wanted to wear the scrubs getup on the way to the park. I think it was my way of paying homage to my comrade Boogie Bob who couldn’t make it to McCollum Park that day.
Before I could even make it off the hospital campus I spotted two nurses smoking cigarettes just a few feet outside of the hospital doors. Even though they were standing far enough away from the hospital entrance and exit doors, their second hand smoke and the cool fall wind had its own idea of who should get this noisome agent into their path.
I wondered if either of those nurses worked in the cancer unit or in the cardiac unit? Then I wondered: would I want those nurses working on me if I was a patient here? I mean, here I was walking out of a cancer unit, which was a place that was trying to cure my buddy Bob from his cancer of the blood or A, L, L as Bob called it. Yet, some of the hospitals very own nurses were smoking cigarettes which were known to cause cancer. And to top it off - they were inadvertently blowing their death smoke in my direction due to the unintentional aid of the wind. Life is filled with paradoxes like, “Smoking nurses” or using, “Poison to cure cancer” and I didn’t like the thought of either one of those.
One of the nurses was a short hot blonde; a straight up hot box even, but her smoking was making her lose points in my book. Due to the cold weather she was hot-boxing her cigarette like a madwoman. I could tell she was cold and trying to finish it quickly. “A hot box is hot boxing,” I mumbled under my breath. Oh yeah, by the way, just in case you don’t know: “hot-boxing” a square is an expression my buddy Kelly the insane K used, I’ll tell you about it. “Hot-boxing” a square is when you aggressively take a massive drag of the cancer stick, repeatedly; making the cherry of the cigarette bright red as to get big massive drags in a short period of time. My pal Kelly hated when someone asked him if they could grab a drag off of his square and then that same MO-FO would hot-box the damn thing. Anyway, that’s what “hot boxing” a cigarette is.
I love what I did next, check this out: I fabricated this deep baritone voice and yell