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APARTMENT 1B

APARTMENT 1B

BULLET

Monday, 3:24 PM

Five blue. Seven red. Four yellow.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes. Lifted his head from the mattress. Saw the shit hole on Eidolon Avenue he called home. The TV with the cracked screen sitting on the plastic crate. The yellowing walls with the rust colored streaks running from ceiling to floor. The scattered pizza boxes and cheeseburger wrappers. And his friends . . .

five blue, seven red, four yellow

sitting on the cheap ass coffee table.

That’s right, he thought. They were all there.

Five blue. Seven red. Four yellow.

He stretched and turned to the window. Kicked the sheet away from his legs. It was raining. And late.

Fuck.

Hated that job anyway.

And FUCK his foot hurt.

He sat up and turned his leg.

What the fuck?

A new tat. A snake. A small snake. A fuckin’ cartoon-ass fuckin’ garden snake or something. Some punk ass shit a prom queen flyin’ on Molly would get before getting fingered in the back of some quarterback’s Chevy.

And
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