Gas, Chopper Babes, and Jessica effing Bloom

“What’s your name?” the taller teen asked. He looked about seventeen, and wore an Arizona Wildcats sweatshirt. It was stained red with blood. He stood inches from the Jeep’s headlights.

“Jessica Fucking Bloom,” she replied. “Who the hell are you?”

He moved closer, right hand extended. “It’s hard to see in the dark.”

“Like it that way,” Marisa said, unscrewing the round gas cap and placing it between her teeth. She lifted the red-and-black can, pouring its contents into the hog’s hungry underbelly.

“Mind if I come closer?” Brandon asked.

Marisa lifted her left index finger, spat the gas cap to her feet. “Stop!!”


“Just wait!”

“Christ! Just being friendly.”

“What’s your friend’s name?” Marisa asked

“Jesse,” Brandon responded. “He’s kind of quiet.”

“Look like a couple of Nancies to me. What the hell are you doing up here?”

“Just drop the attitude, bitch! What the hell are you running from?” Brandon asked.

Jesse stared at Marisa, sullen and disgusted. He raced toward her in a lustful rage.

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