“Ahhhh, Miyagi son!” Jimbo hopped around Frankie, patted him on the back then blew smoke in his direction from the punk they were using to light fireworks.
Frankie choked. “Bro, chill! You know I have asthma!”
Jimbo bent down to examine the last smoke bomb. “Yeah, this one’s a dud! There’s always that one,” he turned to Frankie who was sipping on a bottled water, still trying to quiet his cough.
“Put it back on the ground! Do you know how many people have lost a limb dealing with those things?” Frankie spit the last bit of water to the ground. “For instance…..” he stood silently staring down the street. After a moments time, he pointed towards a rickety wood-sided, two-story home that sat nearly abandoned on the corner. “Haven’t you heard about Len Shun? The old man that lives in that house.”
Jimbo put his elbow on his buddy’s shoulder. “I’ve heard, but it sounds like a bunch of hogwash to me,” he nodded in the opposite direction. “Let’s go.”
Jimbo stuck the last, unexploded firework in his pocket. “Wanna have some fun – remind Mr. Shun what happened to his arm?” he took off skipping towards the man’s house.
“Jimbo, have you lost your mind? Why on earth would you want to remind someone of such a terrible accident?” Frankie shook his head.
Jimbo pushed forward on a mission to destroy.
“Nah man, I’m not going!” Frankie said.
Seconds later, a loud pop traveled through the air – along with Jimbo’s fingers. “I’ve been shot!” Jimbo screamed. “Mom! Mom!”
“You’re not shot! You’re mean, probably the reason that firecracker just exploded! You’ll think twice about harassing old people next time.”
A friend, indeed…. Frankie went home to get a bag of ice, hoping he could save at least one of Jimbo’s fingers.
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