@timeoutroom < with him. She bends herself in half in the seat, reaching down to fish for her phony cigarettes in her bag. Snug wife beater tank top riding up her back and revealing visible vertebrae.
“Shit, yea, I been t’the beach, Eddie. Grew up near one. Been awhile, though. You?”
@timeoutroom < the impulse hits, like a damn juiced up toddler.
Her scrawny bird bones lurch in the seat at the swiftness he gets the car moving. A seatbelt fastened over a skeleton can only do so much. She shoots him a glare, but doesn’t comment. Not worth the mind numbing conversation >
@timeoutroom < maneuver himself in the seat enough to fit. Five hundred pounds of real gnarly shit in a hundred pound seat.
“Figured y’picked it out special. Wantin’ t’blend n’shit.”
@timeoutroom “Reckon’at’ll be a real hoot.”
Him, at the beach. All that ugly on display for all drunk, drugged out spring breakers. She ponders the profit margin on a trip like this. Might need a second backpack.
Dead brown eyes swivel in sunken sockets to watch his fatass body try to >