It Still Hangs Like A Strange Fruit

Mr ___ used to listen to Lisa Lisa and The Cult Jam’s ‘Lost in Emotion’ a lot. The song was always gagged on repeat for hours. It played incessantly and Mr ___'s expression resembled the quintessential look - nonchalance - of Jeeves, the ingenious butler from P.D Wodehouse’s novels.
Mr ___ was not ingenious like Jeeves but very emotional. Sometimes, an extra copy of the evening papers, unwittingly bought home by Mrs___, could make him a very unhappy man for the rest of the evening - Lisa Lisa and The Cult Jam or not.

Mr ___ and ___ seemed to be lost in a sort of emotion called involuntary hatred or just a misunderstanding left unattended for too long and roots started to grow.

___ used to be Mr ___ ‘s favourite. His favoured and fawned upon _. It was apparent from his fondness to tease ___’s chubby cheeks - Mr ___ christened them ‘hamburger’ which was as old-fashioned as it could get in those days, or when he saved the chicken drumstick for ___.

So, came years gone by and many, many moons later, Mr___’s favourite _ grew taller, sans chubby cheeks but all hard bones and a more daring mouth. __'s part maturity and part rebelliousness didn't amuse him, just so you know. Instead, he used tape to tape it up. New rolls of tape were always by Mr ___'s side, accompanied by his pack of twelve sticks and cans of beer, sometimes the bottle-necked ones.

Mr ___ yanked it off when the tape lost its stickiness and turned slick, so, he reached for something else. The gulf widened between Mr ___ and ___.

Mr ___'s emotions got the better of him. Psyche coerced him in a way he never asked for. He would indulged in that state, freewheeling and try as he might, the crazy ride never took a rest. ___ should have hitched a ride on a different day. Perhaps no one could avert that fateful day which didn’t turn out fateful in the morbid sense. It took a turn for the longest time in a state of panic and rest. Breaths came in long-drawn or short and exasperated. All hot air but never the kind you could chase away without exorcising it.

The exorcism is non-ritual like at all. It was simply using the heart to draw in the kind of strength; only someone with the right mix could endure or to make sense out of the necessary evil at the end of it.

Words from Mr___ gushed out like liquor over a flesh wound. It rained, not over a land of drought but a room full of dried food stuff.

Mr ___'s scathing words were injurious to the spirit but that seemed the only way to keep his sanity intact.

This piece might read like an incoherently pieced puzzle because the writer is still struggling to 'straighten out' the (lost) emotions and put it across as accurately as possible.