“Can I walk with you? I think I’m being followed.” ▌ @frensie & terrible first meetings.
the way joey understands it, frank morrison keeps them coordinated. focused. like wolves. as a group, they operate as extensions of a deadlier force; a legion of violent outlets and anger that was more than anger. worse than anger. he unleashes the legion across the quiet, oppressive suburbs of alberta, and it becomes a routine. it becomes addictive. joey smears kohl over their eyelids and cheekbones. slips their fingers into dark leather gloves. wears running shoes with velcro laces, gripped soles. a backpack weighed down by a wire cutter, a crowbar, and lighter fluid. every part of joey’s ensemble is strategic. proactive. a foreboding implication that their intentions are premeditated.
but susie is a small voice behind them, lingering by the old ormond resort’s dilapidated fences.
“frank says to split up,” they tilt their face towards her, deadpanned, compelled to remind her of the objectives. a knee-jerk reaction. joey pauses. fingers flex around the hilt of their knife.
“what happened? what’d they look like?”









