the gunman’s cheerful disposition seems fake,
forced like trying to extract ketchup from a glass
bottle. maybe cloud should give him a knock to
the head to straighten out the man’s loose rattle.or at least shut him up. that’d be good, too.
pleading, he interrupts during a lull:
“Look. I just asked for directions. I don’t really
care about the baker’s cousin’s pregnant wife.”
FUNNY, BECAUSE THE BAKER’S cousin’s pregnant wife
doesn’t quite care for laguna either — she’s more likely to chase him
off with a broom than she is to take him up on the pleasantries he spends
on the stranger before him, chatted within an inch of his life, so it seems.
the embarrassment tints his ears in a second’s time, laguna’s palm
nesting at the nape of his neck with a firm rub.
❛ right, right, my bad. i just — i must’ve gotten carried away, y’know, with
all that excitement. i really love kids, honestly, they’re a lotta fun, really
liven up the town like, uh— ❜ ( stumbling over his words. give it rest. )
❛ anyway, where were you headed again? totally slipped my mind. ❜