I’m never getting out of here. I know this, as well as I know my name is Kenny Panteria. That fat ol’ guard might as well take the key, put it between two thick slices of white bread, smear mayo on, and have it for his lunch, for all the good it’s gonna do me.
The cold stainless steel basin in my hands slides down, while I spit the sour juices that erupt from my stomach like a simmering volcano. It has to be empty now. But, no, up comes one more wave of burning yellow foamy gut juice, which I spit into the shiny silver bottom.
“Panteria?” The guard calls.
“Yeah,” I wipe my mouth on the orange sleeve of my jumpsuit.
“Shut the f*** up,” he says.
“Right,” I agree, because you always agree with the guards. And agreeing is what I do. I agreed with Lucky about going out for a ride in Ben’s car. I agreed with Lucky that we wouldn’t tell about the lady in the road. I even, for a while, after meeting and falling in love with Greer, agreed I shouldn’t tell even her. But looking her in the eyes became impossible, and one of the best things about Greer is her sparkling blue eye’s that are full of promise and forgiveness. Maybe forgiveness.
That and her dimples that make my groin jiggle. I’d give just about anything to see Greer’s dimples that make me want to curl up inside of her.