Scunny hugged himself against the cold he felt in his bones as he stood under the flickering marquis awning of the Haskins Blvd American Standards Cash&Pawn. He whispered through clinched chattering teeth his wish that this infernal drizzle would stop falling. It was as if the rain 'knew' and fell for the solitary function of torturing him.
Scunny caught a whiff of his reeking Slayer hoodie and almost wretched from the stench of it. He heard a slight chuckle begin to rise from his belly at the thought of it. Scunny had never been one to support, even crossing the street to avoid the panhandling gutter punks he'd see around Ambassador Park or outside the Riley Towers. He’d often speak of how they gave the whole neighborhood a funk and now, because of 'this', he stank more awfully than the worst of them.
He'd shower if he could; he had no fear of soap or a good scrubbing. But for some reason he couldn't yet fathom, 4 days ago any moisture that touched his skin would instantly sizzle or steam off in seconds. He was sure that it had something to do with that girl with the neck tattoo that he's hooked up with at Packy Lawson's party. He was determined to find her and hoped that in doing so he'd find out what she'd done to him and most importantly how to make it stop.
if only the rain would cooperate..if only...
No comments:
Post a Comment