“Hey, uh, Dominic.”
Who the fuck just said my name and why the HELL are they saying it in public?
“It’s the fucking author dipshit”
The HELL do you want?
“Stop being a whiny bitch please.”
You’re the asshole writing my voice.
“Shut the fuck up and go on.”
Fine… Anyways, where was I again?
“The folder…..”
Oh, yeah, thanks.
“Don’t mention it.”
So, I gotta go back on that grimy ass fucking train. Great. Exactly the thing I wanted to do at 8 am. Why the fuck am I even up this early. Oh, yeah, that 5k pay day. That’ll sit nicely in that bank account in the Bahamas. Alright, time to head back home. It’s a nice day here in Toronto.
“You do realize that is the FIRST thing you have said this entire half page that doesn’t make you sound like a bitch, right?”
SHUT THE FUCK UP, KENDALL. Anyways, great day in Toronto. It’s gonna turn real bad for some asshole here in a minute. What the fuck is this shit on my seat on the fucking train. Is that like a mixture of fucking cum, gum and shit rolled into one. What the actual fuck? Well, I guess I’ll just stand for the rest of my fucking life after seeing that shit. I remember when I was driving around an Audi, spending money like it was nothing. Now? Now, I am reduced to killing cheating husbands, coke heads and dead beat gamblers for a living. So much for the Triad pay days, so much for the Mafia hits done in Montreal. Good God I miss those days. Finally, my damn stop.
Apartment 17…18…ahhh 19… And why the fuck is this thing not like out in the open or some shit? No, of course, it’s tucked away in some goddamn abyss. Probably Lauren’s fucking basement or some shit. There’s the fucker! Right in between my two mattress’s? God, I HAVE to lay off the Jack…
So who’s the dead beat crack-fiend I’m killing today? No name? Ummmmm… Kendall, are you slipping or is there really no name here?
“No name. Look at the picture and address, douchebag.”
Oh, nice, didn’t see it, there, written in your fucking chicken scratch.
“So help me God, Dominic, I will have you killed.”
Oh, fuck off, your handwriting sucks more than an Orson vacuum cleaner, and you KNOW it. Anyways, eh, he looks like an alright guy. No reason for it? Well, alright, the 5k is all the reason I need.
Time to suit up. Where are those damn track pants Yao gave me? Oh, there they are. Nice, black and pretty beat up. PERFECT for a kill. That UnderArmour hoodie? Oh, just kidding, already have it on. Now where is my brief case? There it is, with Cole already inside. Alright, so where is this meeting at? Warehouse 13, the pier… nice. Already know a great spot for it. Alright, keys… in my pocket… sanity… somewhere probably still in Jersey… anything else? Nope, that’s it. Time to go.
So, I finally made it to the top of my little tower over looking the warehouse. Now, time to assemble Cole. My Cole is a Barrett M82 is a recoil-operated, semi-automatic anti-materiel rifle developed by the American Barrett Firearms Manufacturing. (Straight from wiki there for all my readers… you know, all 5 of them.) Now, where’s that picture? Ah there we go. Caucasian, average build from the look of him, no more than 5’ 10”, brown hair, with blue eyes. Alright, car is pulling up, there he is in the drivers seat. Look down the scope, deep breath… BANG. THE FUCK WAS THAT? I didn’t pull a fucking trigger, but that fucker is dead? Who the fuck? I’m looking all over the place, no one else. Nothing. THE HELL IS THIS FUCKING SHIT? YOU MEAN TO TELL ME SOME COCKSUCKING, MOTHERFUCKING, SON OF A CUNT JUST STOLE MY KILL? I’m going to have whoever did this hung, drawn and fucking quartered for stealing my 5k….
There’s my phone, I better call Arch about this. “Yo, Arch, we have an issue…”
“The fuck do you want?”
“Someone just killed the guy with a long range rifle just as I got a bead on the guy…”
“You sure it wasn’t you?”
“Yes, abso-fucking-lutely. You really think I shot someone and didn’t know it?”
“Fuck… alright, hold on, let me throw the other Kendall off of me… I’ll be down at the lot ASAP.”
“Alright, see you there. Wear two.”
“Fuck off.”
Alright. Time to throw everything in the Honda, and get the fuck out of here.
Driving down the road, all I can think is who the hell would do that? An old enemy? An old associate just wanting to fuck with me? What the hell is going on?
The Flow of Ink from My Pen
This is a place for all of my writings. This is just what flows from my head, to my pen, to the ink, to my paper.
Ask me anythingKendall,
Hey, it’s me, your friend, Cig, again. It’s been a long time. I haven’t heard from you in at least a week. What’s up, bro? You alright? You seemed stressed as hell. I got 19 of my best friends here, and for as long as it takes you to smoke us, we’ll be here for you, helping you to relax.
Cancer? Who gives a damn about cancer, bro? We are here for you at 3 am when no one else is awake or will answer your texts. We are there to fill you with that sweet nicotine as your world comes crashing down. It’ll get you to finally chill.
Bro, I know you have almost no one in your life. Beth left you, your parents are damn idiots, but we are here for you. Yeah, in a way, you must buy our friendship, but when you do, we are there for you until you smoke us all out. When you get done with us, you feel soooooo much better, so why not just keep at it. Screw the cancer, bro. We are here for you. We are here for you when everyone else in life screwed you, bro. Come on back to us, you won’t regret it.
By the way, Rollie, Smokes, Fags (the new British guy), Tabs, and Straights all want to say hi. Everyone else is here too. So, go get you a pack of American Spirit and get your butt over here. We’ll talk and chill. God knows you need to chill.
Remember, we may give you cancer someday, but we are here for you to get you to relax when no one else is.
Take it easy, bro.
Cig
(Source: quote-book)
