Quoted By:
As you pass the burning remains of your hometown in your wacky convoy, you get the urge to check in with Gus a little bit, not that you and him ever really talk much. That’s not to say you guys are distant, or anything, it’s just how stuff is, y’know?
“You’re happier.”
Naturally the big guy beats you to the punch. Speaking of punch, his remark takes you somewhat off-guard–sending a bewildered glance his way, you ask him to repeat himself–you must have gotten something <span class="mu-i">CRAY-CRAY</span> in your ear!
In typical Gus fashion, your driver responds with a noncommittal shrug. “Are you not?”
Great, dude, <span class="mu-i">very</span> informative. Rolling your eyes at a burning post office, you counter his shrug with your own–yea, Gus, you mutter in a voice dripping with sarcasm, you’re having the time of your life dodging death every minute of the day! Art was probably jumping for joy when you left him bleeding in a friggin’ ditch and you’re sure Mitzi and the other folks who lost their friends and family are just peachy too! Woo-frickin’-hoo!
Was that too subtle?
“Nah, I think ya’ nailed dat’ perfect balance, kiddo.”
Cool.
Gus’ perpetually-stoic face droops a centimeter at your sudden tongue-lashing. “Sorry.”
<span class="mu-i">Happy</span>, you scoff. Like a rat in a friggin’ maze, maybe! Leaning back in your seat as it rattles along the bumpy road, you can’t help but stare at the delivery guy’s statue-like face. What the hell is he talking about, anyways, you ask as you angrily cross your arms!
“You’re different, is all.” He replies, earning another exasperated sigh from you. Now you remember why you never talk to the guy–getting anything out of him is like carving a marble sculpture with a toothbrush. <span class="mu-i">Blind</span>. Different <span class="mu-i">how</span>, exactly?
Staring at you out of the corner of his beady little eyes, Gus takes a short breath as he takes you both around the skeleton of an old school bus left to rot in the middle of the road.
“Remember the first time we hung out?”
You respond with a blink. Barely. It was at the apartment, right? He nods with a faint, almost nostalgic grin.
“I’d just come back from work with a <span class="mu-g">MEAT YOUR MAKER DELUXE</span> and your door was open. Not like, wide, or whatever, but kinda.”
Now <span class="mu-i">that</span> rings a bell. Gus was always bringing home pizza after his shifts–perks of his family running the place, you suppose.
“So I peeked inside, right? And there you are just… collapsed.”
That rings stuff too. Those first few shifts at <span class="mu-g">GOOD BOY</span> were <span class="mu-s">brutal!
“Da’ golden days, huh, cupcake?”
“Anyways, you weren’t dead or nothin’, so I gave you a few slices and that was it.”
It was <span class="mu-i">heaven</span>, you grin, feeling a faint taste of pizza on your tastebuds. Last damn day you forgot to pack a snack before work, that’s for damn sure!
“Yea, vodka mini-bottles don’t count as a <span class="mu-i">snack</span>, kiddo.”
Whatever, <span class="mu-i">DAD!</span>
>CONTD.</span>
