Are you a 3ll Seeker?
Spliff: "Yo, Jackson, what up, son?"
The man stepping out of the SUV takes off his sunglasses and flashes a smile at his childhood friend.
3lla: "Not $#!+, kid, what you durin'?"
Jackson Kelly, better know by most as 3lla, pronounced "thrilla", is a massive man, he towers over the rest of his friends as he hugs Spliff and takes a seat on the steps nearby.
Spliff: "I heard you was down in Florida doing some wrestling or some $#!+. What you durin' back here?"
3lla: "I was, man, but the Big Time said I was ready for some action, he's making some calls trying to get me on somewhere so I can wreck some shop. I'm just swinging through to see my moms until he comes up with something."
Spilff: "Right, so we gonna go kick down in the Quarter tonight then?"
3lla: "For sure, you know that, kid. But I'ma pop up here and kick it for awhile. Gimme a shout around 8:30 and we'll hit up Bourbon street."
Jackson stands up and walks upstairs to his mother's apartment.
Fade out.
Fade in.
Later that evening Jackson is sitting his mother's living room when his cell phone rings. Jackson answers it and it is "The Big Time" Kyle Barrows, his trainer and mentor.
Barrows: "Jackson, its Kyle, how's your vacation going?"
3lla: "Vacation, I just got here, I thought it would take you a few days to give me a call, you miss me that much?"
Barrows: "I was just calling to let you know that I found some place for you to wrestle at, its called New Era Wrestling. Looks like a class act."
3lla: "New Era, huh? Sounds fitting since I'ma ring in the next evolution on 'em. Who's their champ?"
Barrows: "His name is Shawn Stryker, apparently he just became their first ever triple crown Champion. He's tough but I don't think you'll have too much to worry about."
3lla: "Triple Crown, huh? Well, that's all good, I'm sure not going to be any cruiserweight champion, but hell, I'll be happy to take the rest of his gold."
Barrows: "Don't get too far ahead of yourself now, its not like the brass is going to let you just walk in and get a title shot. You'll have to work your way up through the ranks first, I'm sure."
3lla: "Well, no doubt but let's face it he's the man to beat right now. I've learned alot from you the past few years, Kyle and I have the utmost faith in my abilities. NEW thinks they've got the best out there but they haven't been 3lled yet."
Jackson hangs up the phone and kicks the recliner back.
Fade out.
Fade in.
We reopen now on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter. Jackson Kelly is standing with the Orleans Ave. Posse, the four black guys mentioned earlier, outside Razoo. Through the open window behind them is the stage inside the club, right now there are girls participating in topless arm wrestling, a very kick @$$ spectale found only at Razoo. Jackson is drinking a 32 ounce Hurricane, his fifth or sixth at this point. The Orleans Ave. Posse consists of Spliff, Toby, Steve and some other guy whose name noone knows but he always seems to be following them around. Jackson takes a drink of his Hurricane just as one hot topless chick pins the other hot topless chick's arm to the table, damm I love New Orleans.
3lla: "Hells yeah, I can't wait to get started in NEW so I can dominate just like that. These kids don't even realize that they're in for a 3ll when I step up on the scene."
Toby: "No doubt, cuz you're the cream of the crop, you rise to the top, you never eat a pig cuz a pig is a cop, or better yet a Terminator, like Arnold Schw.."
3lla: "Shut the hell up, Whitey Ford, Damm."
Spliff: "Ha ha! Yeah, son, quit tryin' to spit someone else's rhymes. NEW is in for a treat cuz they ain't never tangled with nobody from the Big Easy before."
3lla: "Yo, my drink is cashed, let's head over to that vendor and get a refill."
Jackson and the Posse head across the street to a doorway where a funny looking man sits yelling "Cold Beer, get yer Cold Beer." It takes them a hot minute to make their way over since the streets are jam packed.
3lla: "Lemme get 5 big @$$ Hurricane's for me and my boys."
The man quickly pours the drinks and thanks Jackson for the business claiming it has been a slow night. Jackson looks around at all the people in disbelief.
3lla: "Maybe you should get a mic like the girl down at Larry Flint's Hustler Club, might pick up $#!+ for ya."
The fellas pick up their drinks and begin to make their way down the crowded street, stopping along the way to chat with some of the beautiful women they happen across. Just outside the Cat's Meow, Jackson is approached by a raggedy looking man with no teeth.
Begger: "Hey man, lemme get a drink of that."
3lla: "Hell naw, look at your grill, man, you ain't drinking off my cup."
Begger: "Gimme some change so I can get my own then."
3lla: "Get the hell outta here man, I ain't no tourist, go bother someone else."
The old bum wanders off, cussing Jackson is a thick Cajun accent that is hardly intelligable. Things like that happen all the time in New Orleans though so Jackson forgets about it as soon as the man is out of sight. Jackson pops into the souviner shop across the way and picks up a strand of five inch thick beads and puts them around his neck. A little further down the road he is approached by a very drunk, and very fine, young lady.
Girl: "Hey, let me get those beads, I'll show you my +!+$."
3lla: "Girl, this ain't Mardi Gras."
Girl: "Well what are you wearing them for if you don't want to trade them?"
3lla: "I never said I wouldn't trade them, I just said this ain't Mardi Gras. You want these beads its going to cost you something a little more then just a flash."
Girl: "Oh really? Well, I think we might be able to work something out."
Jackson flashes a great big smile as the girl slides in closer and puts her arm around his waist. 3lla: "Ah, the beauty of New Orleans."
Fade out