(in case the pic isn’t clear enough)
“Oh, the angels get real dusted down here.”
the dirty face mumbled, teeth gnawing a hole into the bag.
Self sealing features obviously a special sort of hassle
Dirty Face didn’t wish to bother with.
Not today anyway.
“Down here, they get bruised, hunted, wasted, aced, iced..”
Dirty Face stopped on account of a really, really long coughing fit.
“..mocked.” he managed to spit out, plucking a tiny and wet feather from the
tip of his tongue.
“Mocked.” I repeated.
“Exactly!” he laughed, appreciating my witty and crooked compliment.
And I laughed, grateful that he still had enough magic in him to make me