>be me
>certified wrestling sicko
>few months ago, AEW show in town
>vibes already immaculate
>walking to venue
>cut through alley for dramatic effect
>see a tiny wee little dronie pig imp
>like 2 feet tall, wearing mesh shorts and a snapback
>dancing, twerking, yeeting and spinning like a Beyblade
>cardboard sign says “Dimes 4 Moves”
>no dimes
>just dust and broken dreams
>feel bad but also confused
>he hits a split so hard I almost cry
>toss him a cent
>continue to show
>enter venue
>kino venue, good red hot crowd
>pure sickos wall to wall
>first match starts, it’s chaos but in a good way
>flips, chops, betrayal, forbidden doors flying wide open, joshis and luchadors
>feel my soul leave my body and suplex itself into joy city
>show ends
>me and some fellow sickos hit a bar
>pints flowing, wrestling talk louder than the jukebox
>debating if Orange Cassidy is actually a genius or a mega denim genius
>bartender joins in, reveals he used to wrestle for the fed but got future endeavored for not agreeing to take a dump on his head
>leave bar, full of beer and friendship
>walk outside
>same alley
>same dronie pig imp
>still dancing
>still dimeless
>we all gather around
>someone finally gives him another cent
>he does a botched backflip and vanishes in a puff of glitter
>mfw I witnessed the rise and fall of the dronie pig imp
>mfw AEW gave me more than wrestling, it gave me lore
