assigned cs/abp3: big john bosh and that cali-girl white trash

cs:
time passes slowly in rural alabama. extremely slowly if you're retired. and that's what big john bosh is. a widower soldier, he spends most of his time in his hand-made rocking chair that sits lonely on his cabin porch. the single light bulb installed in the roof above his head has long since gone out. all he relies on to see now is daylight and his single oil lamp. visitors trip their way past his cabin sometimes, and he has dinner guests at least twice a week. other than the occasional visitors, it's just him, his rocking chair, and the birds. big john had retired from the military some time ago, sick of the rigid order of the whole establishment. he was struck by how free birds seemed to be, how they pinned their hopes somewhere in the sky and flew up to find them every day. the small breezes created by their wings throw waves of cool air over his nearly-bald head, barely protected by a decrepit straw hat. but strangely enough, he's not lonely all by himself in the alabama wilderness. the visitors and the birds are enough. his wife used to yell at him for staring too long at the feathered creatures. he runs his fingers over his worn, plaid, button-up shirt, remembering her before sighing again. a good riddance. he couldn't remember why he had married her in the first place--all they had done was fight about how seemingly lazy he was. but in the time that he spent watching birds, big john had honed several of his senses. he could hear things from almost a mile away, literally. he could tell when he was going to have company by the way the bushes moved, from the snap of a tree branch. which was very useful, so he would have enough time to sprint down to the nearest general store (only a 5-minute run), grab some extra cans of food, race back, and make something halfway decent. and each morning when the strangers leave his house, thanking him for warm food and shelter, he sees them off with a wistful smile. sure, he doesn't get lonely often, but sometimes, it'd be nice to have someone to watch the birds with.

the meeting:
big john bosh's small, dinky cabin is far from any highway, but he knows a broke-ass car when he hears one. the clunking of the dying car along with the cursing of a young girl reach  his ears. he blinks as he hears the rustling of bushes in the distance. mentally perusing his pantry, he verifies that he has enough food for two. the bushes shake, and out jumps a young girl with the greasiest brown hair.

"hey old man!" she yells coarsely. "you got any tools in this hick-town?"

he nods dumbly. he's had nice, genteel hikers stop by his place but never someone like her. even he knows that she's cali-girl white trash.

"sure," he says softly, lifting himself off the wooden rocker. "what's your name?"

"kings. rochelle kings. yours?" she spits, swaggering after him.

"john bosh. but you can call me big john, if you'd like rochelle."

she smiles toothily, showing some of her missing teeth as he opens the door to his shed.

"thanks hon, but all i need is a couple of tools. i don't need none of yo' flirtin' with this girl here."

big john blinks at her in confusion a little bit before pulling the tools out of his old, rusty red toolbox.

"crescent wrench, monkey wrench, car jack, screwdriver, anything you need here."

rochelle stares at the toolbox with a somewhat angry expression on her face before snatching it all up.

"thanks big john," she says, sighing quietly. she smiles again, but this time it seems slightly more genuine. he nearly misses what she says next. "it's been a long time since anyone's been this nice to me."