to be continued

He knew he shouldn't park there, but he did anyway. While in the small house gathering essentials for his trip (leather traveling bag: brown; t-shirts, 2 each: white, black gray; amphetamines; scope mouthwash; pictures of XX in various sexual poses - her mouth set in a pout, her eyes half lowered in seduction) he took time to pull aside the ragged curtains to see a meter maid, squeezed like a sausage into her all black uniform, stop her golf cart next to his half size white pick up parked in the fire zone. snapping her gum while she waddled around the truck, he could tell she was having a hard time breathing from the exertion. it was dark out - on a dark street - the kind of neighborhood where you don't keep the lights on inside so passersby can't see in. Two or three blocks away was a busy intersection and he imagined approaching the fat pig while back lit by this light. She wouldn't be able to see his face and he could easily drag her into the small house and kill her. She would scream and struggle, but would become complacent after a few punches to the face and his hands around her neck. Fat pigs like this never know how to use their guns - otherwise they'd be out catchin' the bad guys, right? He needed a gun, too.
She had snot and saliva all over her face from crying and struggling and her hair was mussed and even missing in places. He ordered her to undress so that he could take photos of her in the fashion of XX's pictures. He wanted her to look at him with those half closed bedroom eyes. But the pig was too fat and looked nothing like XX so he decided to cut off her stomach. That make it better, but her arm fat still rolled over her elbows and her butt resembled an orange rind. after a few hours of sculpture work he gave up. the pig was a lost cause.
A ticket was on his windshield when he threw his brown leather travel back into the passenger seat. he grabbed it and put it and the fat pig's gun in the glove box, and flipped a bitch toward the busy intersection two or three blocks away.