#saltn

     He stretches, luxuriously.

‘Piece of shit!’

This is the third time Lenny has let fly with this particular phrase this evening. He’s been keeping track. The first time was after his client, or would-have-been client, decided not to take the clip they’d been offered, straight up turned it down after a half minute with the rig and left Lenny with a basketful of cold, half eaten chilli fries that he bitterly helped himself to. He hadn’t made a mistake with the clip, that’s for sure, the person simply hadn’t liked the experience. There’s one in every hundred. 

One of the machines had shorted him on a game of Contra, barely gave him a frame of it. He’d aimed at kick at the cabinet which had been mostly heel and the shooting pain sparking up from his ankle had made him yell. Strike two.

Now he’s sat on the dusty sidewalk outside of the fence surrounding the arcade’s parking lot, waiting for his ride who he’s just called, another guy he knows, not Mace, because Mace understandably didn’t want to venture out into the ass end of nowhere just for Lenny to make a deal. He can count himself lucky that she didn’t see him. 

He wings his faulty vape pen at the nearest trash can, not aiming to get it in the thing as it’s much more satisfying when it breaks against it. There’s some satisfaction in letting his frustration out loud, too. It’s short lived, as he doesn’t have anything to do, now, except look to the end of the road.

          it’s actually the day after his birthday. the dates, i guess, means i’m having more of a birthday weekend than anything. he gives maika a soda and points to the remains of a pretty nice pistachio cake that elliot is never going to finish all by himself.