*ding dong*
flexington hits the mute button on the tv, getting up slowly from the couch and walking silently across the floor to the window. he's been watching the clock for over an hour now, the minutes passing by far to quickly. like a man on death row, he knows his fate and it's at his door.
'hey! open up! it's me! I brought nasser!' he hears from outside.
slowly inching the curtain away from the sill to peer at the unwelcomed guest, he wonders how the fuck he ever came to be in this situation.
'hey! I know your in there! open up the bucket of chicken is getting cold!' says Alex, his brother-in-law, half eaten drumstick in hand, grease dripping down his 3 chins onto a stained polo shirt that strains unnaturally to contain the bulk of his midsection.
'fuck' he mutters to himself and hangs his head. i knew I should have put the car in the garage, or better yet killed the fat retard 3 years ago. he didn't know it would turn out like this. padding back across the floor he stops in front of the desk where he keeps the 45. loaded with hollowpoints with one in the chamber for good luck.
ha ha 'good luck' he thinks to himself. if I had luck I would be in this predicament right now.
'I'm coming!' he says in a happy falsetto, as he slides the chamber back and walks to the door.