#ella 005.

"Holy fuck, my shins are killing me." Malcolm groaned as he slowed to a stop on his roller skates, bending over to sit himself on the curb. "I'm seriously so out of practice. You wanna know the last time I put these shits on? Literally, like, seven or eight years ago back when I was living in Boston." Before prison, that is. "I'm the best shape of my life and riding a few miles down the road fucking winds me. Make it make sense." He shook his head, beginning to unlace his skates. "Anyway, you hungry? I got a shit ton of sandwich stuff in my fridge. Most of it expires tomorrow so, uh, I'm really lookin' to use it before I gotta toss it."