Hit Me

Help: Consecutive Substack Story 1182

Took Vench a minute to realize Ninety-Five was burning his leg with his cigarette, rather than just stubbing it out in an odd way on his jeans.

“Srong wit you?”

Ninety-Five jerked, like he didn’t know Vench could see him doing it even though they were right next to each other on the bus stop, the Cooley line that didn’t run anymore but they never tore out the shelter.

Ninety-Five had lied to Vench a few times over 28 years, laid even money in his head that Vench had caught him every time.

“Pig’s blackjack game is crooked as fuck.”