Three miserable years. But there I was, fucking cigarette in my mouth . . .
Tag: Brandon Dutton
“Aren’t you hot in that?” She gestured at my sport coat. . . .
A white Prius squealed up the driveway of the Chevron station and pulled around back. Dark, syrupy blood dried to the grill . . .
Where the f**k am I?
My eyes snapped open and scanned the inside of a run-down apartment. Brown stains covered the couch like leprosy, and the living room looked like it had been robbed . . .