Stacks said the best thing about a gated community is how stupid it made people act. Normal shit like locking their doors at night was forgotten.
“These geezers, they want to live back in the simple times,” he said as he slid the crowbar into his pack. “But they still want all the modern conveniences.”
Juggy nodded. “And them women have lots of diamonds!”
Juggy was a fucking idiot, but he could lift the back end of a truck off the ground. It’d come in handy more than once.
We slipped over the outer wall, no problem. Easy pickings tonight.
Sorry, when I see old people in a bandstand the first thing I think about is the fact that they’re not home. Lock your doors, people.
Another Friday Fiction prompt. This seems to be the only blogging I’ve done since I got hired by the city three weeks ago. Cheer up, readers. When I get fired I’ll have more time to waste at the library.
Tom prodded the old man with his toe, careful not to get any of the blood onto his new Timberlands. The shotgun was new, too, a Mossberg the salesman said was ideal for home defense.
Until the old man groaned, Tom didn’t know if he was alive or dead. That much blood could mean anything.
The old man’s eyes flew open like one of those cartoon window shades, widened even more when he saw the Mossberg pointing at his face.
“Where am I?” His voice was like gravel in a can.
“You are on my property. You can’t sleep here.”
At the Dunkin Donuts Mom left me in the car when this real big dude walks by wearing Cholo clothes even though it was, swear to fuck, maybe twenty degrees outside and here’s this motherfucker wearing khakis and a flannel shirt with a bandana way down over his eyes and no coat or nothing and I leaned out of the car and yelled “HEY YOU FUCKING WETBACK YOU FORGOT YOUR COAT” when Mom come out of the store and wanted to make me get out and apologize but I talked her into having me walk home from the park instead.
Jimmy always acted like he knew everything, especially about what could get you high.
He was usually right, but the highs weren’t always the nice kind.
The time we soaked rags with copy fluid and spent the afternoon huffing made us both sick as whores for three days.
When he saw the toadstools he got real excited.
He asked me if I wanted to see God.
I said sure.
He pointed down at the ground, picked one up and broke off the cap. A little cloud of spores went up.
“See it turn blue? That’s the devil blushing.”