Wrocław Tenement Stories #3
He pauses to admire his impressive abdomen as he catches sight of his own reflection in the darkened window. 'Washboard abs' they called them in America. He tried forming the words out loud, laughing at his own terrible accent.
He lingers a moment longer, flexing his biceps, and the way that his club tattoos glisten under a sheen of sweat. He loves working out almost as much as he loves football. His girlfriend thinks he likes admiring himself more than he likes football. Or her for that matter.
But he's part of a crew and he has an image to uphold. His brothers rely on his strength, his speed, his downright determination to defend the Slask Wroclaw club name. It's a home game tomorrow and he's expecting scuffles with the visiting supporters, maybe even the cops. The sort of scuffles where noses are broken, faces slashed and heads stomped. Good times.
He grins at his reflection, the missing front teeth make it look more like a snarl than an expression of happiness. Even in perfectly innocent settings, his shaved head and menacing gappy smile have the power to strike fear. The girl across the landing is terrified of him, always scurrying along the corridor, or cowering in the corner of the stairs when she sees him coming. Shame, because she's actually quite hot in a frightened little girl way.
His grin grows wider, he likes the power that fear brings. People may hate him, but they damn well do what he wants because they are afraid. Because they are weak, snivelling and pathetic. But not him, no. He has worked hard to make a name for himself and the terror in their eyes makes it all worthwhile.
He balls his hands into fists, sparring with his reflection. Tomorrow is going to be a great day.
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