Sick of waiting. Sick of this heat, hot and muggy like the inside of a rotten log in the midst of summer. Surprised he's not got gnats or sweat flies chewing at him. Needs a fucking shower. Hasn't even done anything today to warrant one, the target not showing for the third consecutive day, but he's past caring at present. Jack glances over, chews his cheek for lack of cigarette and finally caves, "We done?"
Beads of sweat gathered on his brow as he wiped them off for the umpteenth time today. His shirt was slowly soaked with sweat, darkening the black of the fabric at the chest and back.
Keeping an eye on where they were expecting the target, he heaved a sigh. Jack’s question reminded him that the target would be a no-show again. He’s starting to think this has been a set up.
“Yeah. Pack it up. We’re leaving.”
