Mike lost his bike.
“hey bub i fed that skinny cat for you and let him in” said a man in clean bank gaurd suit.
“I let im outside for a reason rent a cop”
“Oh yeah, maybe one day i can be a real cop so i can pass out on the steps and let the cleaning lady take my gun” he heard as stepped into his car in front of his apartment.
A hubcap shot off the primer gray ford falcon as it slamed it a tricked out bicycle causing the new pedestrian to flee down the ghetto alley, only feet ahead of the hell bent husband packin heat.
“Get the fuct off me you junkie fuct, i aint selling you no more horse”
Newly bikeless, mike went crosseyed trying to read the numbers written on the pistol pushing in his forehead.
“I ain’t here for dope, where does the junkie bitch in this picture live?”
“Man i ont’ no, she see me on de street.”
“Well then i dont need you alive then”
ctink is the sound his thumb made on the safety.
“WAIT ROOM THIRTY AT THE H .K. I THINK ”
“you think or you know?”
“I KNOW THEY BOUGHT SOME PISTOLS FROM ME TOO ”