cream

ii. 

Fuck this suit, Mosely thought, taking in the full strength of the afternoon sun. The jet black layers made Mosely suspect something about the name “wise guys” was misleading. Mosely opened the trunk. He was ready to smash Elt’s greaseball of a head against the hood. That is if it hadn’t popped by the time he got back there. Elt knew better. He had it open seconds after the coin landed. 

The smell didn’t register to him anymore. The bulk pissed him off every time. Mosely was strong, but slush tossed around in its clear plastic, filling dead space wherever it could. Mosely chuckled at his own pun.

Just get it done, his bastard old man rasped through his head. It strung out on two straight nights of coke and whispering cold from the cigarettes he smoked for dessert. He threw the first half of the heaping slush over his shoulder. The warm mass bent around his bulk. The shocks of the car sighed when he lifted away the amorphous bag of goo. It weighed exactly as much as it looked. As Mosely walked, it sagged on Mosely’s frame, siding with gravity in each heavy step. 

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