i can afford all the help i need, hermano. el capitán aint broke!
( he takes care to not dirty his sleeve when wiping blood away from the corner of his mouth after he turns back around )
there’s just no savin’ me unless i chrome out every part of me. i’d rather die ‘ganic. +
most of my people can’t afford to not become a corpse.
( he feels another cough fighting its way out, and turns around so the other man won’t see the heavier splatter of blood that comes out )
a year, maybe more. i don’t keep track, there are more important things.
( a tired look flashes in his eyes, and for a moment he looks much older than he actually is )
this is santo domingo. your lungs hurt? smoke a cigarette. you cough? smoke another cigarette. cheaper than beggin’ suits for actual medicine.
( he straightens his back when he notices he has an audience, hand rubbing against his shorts(?) to wipe the blood off )
thiiis? no, choom. this is my medicine, no need for a doctor! just got something in my throat, that’s all. iiit’s allergy season!
( taking a llllllong drag from a cigarette. ah — coughing violently, hand covering his mouth to catch specks of red before they can hit his shoes )
that’s my king! no point in worryin’ about you, huh? night city’s your bitch, i should be worryin’ about everyone else.
always knew he does stupid shit on his gigs. i can’t complain, whatever gets the job done and makes my clients happy.
plan d, for now.
/ i think about this every time i get on this stupid account. muamar you were so in love with v i know the only reason you ain’t say anything is because you’re dead by 2079
ah! they never are. you can ignore them, i’ll have the car clean in an hour!
. . .
but you miiight have to watch your back, choom. i can only clear the car off their database, not you.
