Goddamit. I need an escape from my escape. Wait, where was I? Oh yes, an escape, of course. It seems I have a psychological hiccup of some sort. And then I serendipitously click on the new Cass McCombs LP and all is right with the world. I think I’ll try something more realistic this time. A very short scene.
The Guatemalan shopkeeper left the store around 7:44. The two 30 somethings scouted out from the first’s second story office. They passed back and forth a pipe that hadn’t been cleaned in 60 days, give or take. Remember there was a 30 day period of no use while waiting on the DOA job offer and subsequent didn’t-happen drug test. They laughed about the idiocy of everything but them. They discussed the Velvet Underground and called Lou Reed a genius, despite his having gone useless in older age. At 7:48 the two buttoned up respective tweed elbow-covered blazers, distributed cigarettes, lit said cigarettes and walked slowly around the corner toward the shop. The Guatemalan sold coke on the side and they figured they’d just grab a nibble, enough for a fun weekend. No weapons among them, just Camel Silver smoke and one scarf worn show-off-ily. They walked slowly past the shopfronts, surveying. Nothing noteworthy aside from a few 32 mile-per-hour cars. They turned down the alley past the last shop and were alone, save for a mini-forest of trees and quiet darkness. TBC
