Faggots

Inside of a large moving truck, the two men work in unison. It is hot, they are sweating and absolutely not getting paid for their labor.
"Alright, this thing is going to be heavy", one says while wrapping his head around moving a refrigerator out of the moving truck and up a narrow awkward set of cement stairs. Combing his hands through his thick black hair greased from the previous night of drinking, he realizes that they are the only two doing the work.
"Right. How about you spin it this way." he suggest to his fellow worker.
"I'm sweating fucking hard dude", the lanky one answers back.
"Yeah, this is rough. Last thing until we are finished though, lets just get it done."
The two are now standing with the solace of the work that would soon be done. A black car rolls down the street toward them full of young punks. One of them hangs his head out of the passenger side window as they near the moving truck.
"FAGGOTS!" he screams from the early 90s sedan, sounding unsure of his own infliction.
The movers look at eachother, sweating in the hot dank smelling box-truck.
"What was that?! What? Who says..? Oh no." the tallish man sits down wrecked and now completely lost of his determination.
"Dude, that was harsh. Who just yells that? He cant be serious?"
The two have now hit a wall. They are not talking, and most definitely are not looking one another in the eyes.
"I don't want to do this anymore. This truck is due back in 3 hours but fuck this" exiting the truck jumping to the blacktop street. The sun now beating more not than it had been in the past few minutes. Never before has a word of bigotry made so much sense as to not say it aloud. Lucky enough, a taco stand could be seen down the block and surely they would be selling Jarritos.
"I'm gonna' go grab a drink real quick. You want one?"
"Yeah, sure." our once confident comrade replies.
"Alright. Give me some money, 'cause whether it be a fruit soda or a can of beer I will not be buying you a drink at this moment."
A long distance stare down begins from the shaded interior of the truck to the bright hot street below. It would not end for long seconds, until a beautiful girl interrupts; she is the owner of this white boxy refrigerator.
"What are you guys doing?" she asks.
The two stop and look to the girl casually, "Oh nothing, just trying to figure out how to get this fridge up your stairs and into that apartment."
"Alright, well I'm going to head back up. Can you guys and just man up and get the thing up there? Then maybe we could go to the beach."
"Yeah. Sure. You're right. We'll just do it up right now." the taller of the two counters back as he jumps back into the hot box of metal to pick up the most impossible kitchen appliance invented to manhandle. They then begin to navigate the fridge up the hairpin turn staircase and up to the front door. Once inside they set it down and plug it in, and immediately crack some lime Jarritos to cheers. The work is done.
"Well, the beach?" the girl asks.
"Sure, I just need to go get my swimsuit. You need yours man?", one asks the other.
"No. I'm fine with my jeans, lets just get out of here." he is clearly keeping on his street clothes.
And to the beach they went, listening to the filthiest rap songs they could think of mixed with the most terrible selections of classic smooth rock the backseat passenger had on his ipod.
Their heads were rocked and lessons were learned. But as the sun disappeared over the ocean, it was clear that their prior friendships were made more solid than they ever had been, and new ones were forming.