The guy knows precisely who he's doing... and who he's not. #101 | | |
Shaking his head, he muttered, "John, you mind if I go have a cigarette outside?" #102 | | |
When John shook his head, Blay got to his feet and put the clothes on the seat. To the tattoo guy he said, "I just flip the lock?" #103 | | |
"Yup, and you can leave it open if you're just outside the door." #104 | | |
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Blay walked away from the buzz of the tattoo gun and the symphony of groans behind that curtain, slipping out of the shop and leaning against the building right next to the entrance. Palming up a flat pack of Dunhill reds, he withdrew a cigarette, put it between his lips, and lit the thing with his black lighter. #107 | | |
The first drag was heaven. Always the best out of all that followed. #108 | | |
As he exhaled, he hated that he read into things, saw connections that weren't there, misinterpreted actions and stares and casual touches. #109 | | |
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Qhuinn hadn't been looking up as he'd been getting blown to meet Blay's eyes. He'd been checking on John Matthew. And he'd spun that woman around and taken her from behind because that was how he liked it. #111 | | |
Fuckin' A... hope didn't so much spring eternal as it drowned out common sense and self-preservation. #112 | | |
Inhaling hard, he was so tangled in his own thoughts that he failed to notice the shadow at the head of the alley across the street. Unaware he was being watched, he smoked along, the chilly spring night eating up the puffs that rose from his lips. #113 | | |
The realization that he couldn't keep going like this anymore was a deep freeze that went right into his bones. #114 | | |
