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About Malmo

I’m picturin’ it – me, drivin’ round, lookin’ for some action. Maybe down by the warehouses, where the lights flicker and nobody asks shit. Dr. Evil vibes – pinky up, “One million dollars.” – like I’m buyin’ the whole damn block. But real talk, it ain’t that fancy. Prolly just some chick named Tammy, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a streetlight. “What’s your story, hon?” I’d ask, all smooth, but inside I’m like, “This is nuts, what am I doin’?”

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Funny story: I ended up believing her that it was self defense, so I helped her dispose of the body. The next four or five times I came through Valentine she.

Finally, I decide to wind down at the park by the church. It’s peaceful, and I can finally breathe. I sit on a bench, and this couple next to me is arguing. Like, full-on shouting. I’m just trying to enjoy my day, and they’re having a drama fest. I can’t help but eavesdrop. Turns out, it’s about who left the toilet seat up. Seriously?

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