“Did he really, freaking say I prattle like a
girl?”
“I think he did,” Roger said, nodding like a bobble head.
“He wants to die a horrible death, doesn’t
he?” Michael asked, jerking his thumb toward the back seat.
“I think he just said what I was thinking,”
Roger answered.
“Take a right.”
Michael turned. “Now where, your Excellency?”
“He’s at the skate bowl,” Jon said, following
the second-half of the image that nearly emptied his bladder.
“You thought he was in the projects. Now you
think he’s skating. You mind explaining that? Are the spirits speaking to you?
Why the hell am I even talking to you? You talk to imaginary friends. A
half-wit and a no-wit. Roger, why am I talking to this guy?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe ’cause you prattle
like a girl? You got nothing better to do on a Saturday morning? You like amusing
half-wits? Am I close? Just tell me if I’m warm.”
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