E
egghead
Guest
Original poster
After excessive adrenaline rushes and near-death experiences, a rattled coffee can brain neglected reading into an exceedingly recent confidant's financial confidence, figuring the constant IOU barrage was scarcely more than pipe dreams. But the assumed altruist never stopped astounding, not when imaginings of a picturesque, lavish lifestyle formed out from spilled hints of his mysterious past. This scrappy, scrawny wayfarer...is a rich boy?
Glen was uncertain his palpitating heart can handle further sudden revelations. Unendurable quiet followed, a glass casket separating duo dregs of humanity from regular mall-goers, incessant hums and buzzing muffled, practically imperceivable. Then someone chortled with his vocal chords, and the veteran lackey heard his own voice. "Well, if you insist. It's been...awhile since my last trim."
Besides the muggings, mayhem and possible manslaughter, what else could go wrong?
Droopy eyelids shuttered, blocking out fluorescent leers and replacing them with images burned into his retinas, mental snapshots capturing another indirectly destroyed life slumped in gore splatter so lurid even memories of it were blinding. Only the explosion seemed brighter. Or was it the fire? Or perhaps muzzle flashes, marking every event where he nearly executed the most vile sin?
A gentle pull became his saviour, plunging an unwilling time traveler back into present time. Different from bartenders unsticking his gill from counters and a certain scarlet harlot impaling with polished talons, this heave was not meant to throw him out of pubs or towards cash registers. Instead there was a kindred spirit tugging at his sleeve with childhood innocence. Nobody ever stayed within sniffing distance, let alone remain close enough to tangle limbs, and yet the fellow pariah stood beside as an equal, walking with him. Not having experienced unconditional acceptance, embers sparked inside a cobwebby soul.
Gaze changing from darting agitation to benign docility, Glen stroked his stubble-swathed face. "Maybe a shave wouldn't hurt either," he prattled, attempting to sound hearty. "Bet I would look very, uh, crunk with a hairstyle like yours."
Glen was uncertain his palpitating heart can handle further sudden revelations. Unendurable quiet followed, a glass casket separating duo dregs of humanity from regular mall-goers, incessant hums and buzzing muffled, practically imperceivable. Then someone chortled with his vocal chords, and the veteran lackey heard his own voice. "Well, if you insist. It's been...awhile since my last trim."
Besides the muggings, mayhem and possible manslaughter, what else could go wrong?
Droopy eyelids shuttered, blocking out fluorescent leers and replacing them with images burned into his retinas, mental snapshots capturing another indirectly destroyed life slumped in gore splatter so lurid even memories of it were blinding. Only the explosion seemed brighter. Or was it the fire? Or perhaps muzzle flashes, marking every event where he nearly executed the most vile sin?
A gentle pull became his saviour, plunging an unwilling time traveler back into present time. Different from bartenders unsticking his gill from counters and a certain scarlet harlot impaling with polished talons, this heave was not meant to throw him out of pubs or towards cash registers. Instead there was a kindred spirit tugging at his sleeve with childhood innocence. Nobody ever stayed within sniffing distance, let alone remain close enough to tangle limbs, and yet the fellow pariah stood beside as an equal, walking with him. Not having experienced unconditional acceptance, embers sparked inside a cobwebby soul.
Gaze changing from darting agitation to benign docility, Glen stroked his stubble-swathed face. "Maybe a shave wouldn't hurt either," he prattled, attempting to sound hearty. "Bet I would look very, uh, crunk with a hairstyle like yours."
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