>>938440481
Troy’s face… Jesus Christ. Tears, snot, this weird high-pitched whimper. And then he starts fartin’. Like, loud nervous farts, punctuating every sob. Then, like it’s the natural next step, he waddles off, and this ginger butterball comes back into the room with a fuckin’ handgun — eyes glazed, fartin’ like a busted radiator. That’s our cue.
I toss the rest of the calamari in my mouth, we zip up, grab our jackets, and start makin’ our exit. We’re halfway to the car when we hear it — BANG! BANG! BANG! — gunshots echoin’ through the neighborhood, followed by this blood-curdlin’ scream that sounds like somebody stranglin’ a goose.
We peel outta there like we just robbed a bank, tires squealin’, my heart poundin’ like I just did a rail of the devil’s dandruff the size of a canoe paddle. I glance in the rearview and, I swear to Christ, what I see is burned into my fuckin’ soul:
Troy — naked from the waist down, gut hangin’, pale as skim milk — standin’ in the front doorway. He’s covered in blood, holdin’ the gun in one hand… and in the other? His mother’s urn.
And he’s eatin’ it, cocksucka. Fistfuls of her ashes, crammin’ ‘em in his mouth like it’s fuckin’ protein powder, all while starin’ at us with this dead, soulless look — like he’s both present and not fuckin’ there at the same time.
I look at Reggie and go, ‘This is why I tell you never fuck with white people in Washington.’ And we didn’t slow down ‘til we hit the fuckin’ turnpike.
