Guess what. I am not a bullshit artist. I am a FICTIONEER. I like that. It fits in with my flexible view of the truth.
So there’s this thing where a blog-writing woman with a floral website and lots of crazy typography posts a photo of something and challenges people to write about it in a hundred words or less. People write about all kinds of things. Lots of fantasy, or an I’m-Ray-Bradbury thing. Once in a while a teen romance/vampire deal.
When they write about crime, it’s James Bond crime, not real crime, not stick-a-screwdriver-in-the-Korean-guy’s-face-for-eleven-bucks crime. Not real.
So in that spirit, here’s my entry. First, the picture. If you click on the blue frog link at the bottom you can do it do. Prison buds, I’m talking to YOU!
Oh yeah. A score this big would set me up for life. Maybe longer.
Best of all— the money was just a bonus.
The insult was the main thing for me, making Maco look like an asshole. A chump.
He was a chump, but he had them all scared. Don’t fuck with Maco, everybody said. I tell you, it ate me up, the way they respected him.
He was such a fucking chump.
He drove to get it in a borrowed van. That bastard thought he was going to be rich. Scarface or something.
I wish I’d seen his face.
