03-13-2016, 02:14 PM
When I left the propaganda filled holding cell then into the sleek, clean waiting room I saw a familiar face and I couldn’t help but feel relieved. Sitting slumped in a stiff chair with his hands together and rested on his forehead sat that chicken head I sent flying. Poor guy, I wonder what happened to him and why he decided he would want to sit waiting at police headquarters. That is one favor I will never return, guess that makes me a bad friend. Whatever.
The clip-clop of my 6-inch stilettos alerted Jacket of my arrival when he saw me, a flashy smile stretched across his face. “Hey sugar, what happened to you? I thought you were a goner?” I asked him with caring inflection.
“Uh,” he stammered while rising to his feet. “Apparently if you die here you come back after a while,” Jacket said with a slight chuckle and a hand pushing his hair back from his face. Without that crazy chicken head, he was an alright looking guy. Of course, thinking back to the photos of the minced meat soldiers, made me feel a little curious and excited. This guy was a complete lunatic and I fucking loved it.
So you come back after you die? Interesting. We walked out of that pain in the ass police station and I followed Jacket into a cab that was already waiting for us. What a gentleman, well, it served him right after the shit he put me through. I could have a drink with this jive turkey.
The cabbie dropped us off at huge open lot with only a fairly large historic building in sight. This did not look like any bar I have ever been to but, the motorbikes and speed cars jam packed in front looked promising. As we both approached, there was a man sitting on a rusty stool right in front of a metal spiked double door. On top of this door was “Big Daddy Cassino and Nightclub” crudely spray painted on the rustic bricks of this building. Well, I can already tell that whoever Big Daddy was, he was lacking in brain cells. Luckily, and with little resistance we both received access inside the dimly lit place.
The clip-clop of my 6-inch stilettos alerted Jacket of my arrival when he saw me, a flashy smile stretched across his face. “Hey sugar, what happened to you? I thought you were a goner?” I asked him with caring inflection.
“Uh,” he stammered while rising to his feet. “Apparently if you die here you come back after a while,” Jacket said with a slight chuckle and a hand pushing his hair back from his face. Without that crazy chicken head, he was an alright looking guy. Of course, thinking back to the photos of the minced meat soldiers, made me feel a little curious and excited. This guy was a complete lunatic and I fucking loved it.
So you come back after you die? Interesting. We walked out of that pain in the ass police station and I followed Jacket into a cab that was already waiting for us. What a gentleman, well, it served him right after the shit he put me through. I could have a drink with this jive turkey.
The cabbie dropped us off at huge open lot with only a fairly large historic building in sight. This did not look like any bar I have ever been to but, the motorbikes and speed cars jam packed in front looked promising. As we both approached, there was a man sitting on a rusty stool right in front of a metal spiked double door. On top of this door was “Big Daddy Cassino and Nightclub” crudely spray painted on the rustic bricks of this building. Well, I can already tell that whoever Big Daddy was, he was lacking in brain cells. Luckily, and with little resistance we both received access inside the dimly lit place.
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