“No time. How’s the car?”
“Hot. Stopped,” you said. “Like Sixty-Five.”
Jasper surveyed the beltway. “Shit,” he said. “Shit.”
We exchanged a glance. I didn’t know what you meant by yours. Mine meant: “What the hell are we doing out here?” Yours could have meant the same thing, or it could have meant: “Drinks would be good right now.” I never know with these things.
“Get the bags,” Jasper said. “And put on your uniforms.” He kicked the ground and then went back inside the funeral parlor.
We went back down to the car and opened the trunk.
have a severe case of writer's block. been working on the next establishment appraisal for over a week now. hoping to finish it by the end of the week. in the meantime, hope this post keeps everyone content.