"I thought you said you nixed the bastard," Mr. Hernandez boomed as he came in the room. "This shit was supposed to be over."
"Someone must not have gotten the memo," Santana whispered, his eyes staying closed.
"Be glad you're on the table," the Old Man said to him. "And you," he turned on me," I thought I told you to off this character. What the hell is taking you so long?"
It wasn't a real question. The Old Man needed to blow off the head of frustration he had poured himself. His daughter had been rescued, the culprit who had made our lives hell and disrupted business had been iced. And now we suffered too many casualties and his chief of security nearly became fertilizer. It made for a hell of a storm which took almost a half hour to blow itself out.
Moved on to chapter 33 with a few hundred words. Goal for tonight is to get to 500.
Feeling slightly brain dead at the moment. Work day didn't end very well and I'm not doing so well at home. On the plus side tomorrow is casual Friday. Schedules are being discarded by the road to ferment in the dust with the single sneakers and shredded retreads. I feel like I being caught looking in the wrong direction, listening to the wrong music. Thoughts sludge to rancid blossom all while I think I've forgotten something imperative, but don't even know where the thought would have been shelved. Know what I mean?