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Predator Press
[LOBO]
"Look, what to you want?" says Mr I.
With my index finger I absently stroke the edge of his vast, meticulously neat desk. "You know how people at work make small talk over, say, football games or maybe how handicapped people are assholes?"
"What are you getting at?"
"What if all that 'small talk'," I says, making quote marks in the air with my fingers, "was about me raising your unborn bastard child with Sapphire?"
Mr I leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "Well, I would certainly have to kill everyone involved in that conversation," he says. “With hollowpoints. At point-blank range.”
"Well, we're out of trash bags in the break room," I says.
“Damn it!” his eyebrows narrow. "Can't that Cobe handle anything?"
[LOBO]
"Look, what to you want?" says Mr I.
With my index finger I absently stroke the edge of his vast, meticulously neat desk. "You know how people at work make small talk over, say, football games or maybe how handicapped people are assholes?"
"What are you getting at?"
"What if all that 'small talk'," I says, making quote marks in the air with my fingers, "was about me raising your unborn bastard child with Sapphire?"
Mr I leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "Well, I would certainly have to kill everyone involved in that conversation," he says. “With hollowpoints. At point-blank range.”
"Well, we're out of trash bags in the break room," I says.
“Damn it!” his eyebrows narrow. "Can't that Cobe handle anything?"
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