*ೃ༄ 18+ mature!
[ RESERVOIR DOGS/PULP FICTION/MR PINK x OC ] Somewhere in LA, a diamond heist goes wrong. A robber is shot, innocent customers, cops, and civilians are injured or gunned down, and someone from the group is an undercover cop. But befo...
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ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : ❝Te Juro Que Te Amo❞ - Los Terricolas
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FOR AS LONG AS HE could remember, Mr. Pink hated the smell of cheap cologne. It reminded him of his youth, the men that brushed passed him as he turned to the corner of the ethnically mixed lower-class neighborhood he grew up in the slummy area of Los Angeles. He could tell it was cheap, but he understood why they never upgraded to high-end fragrance when they all dressed cheaply half the time. When one day, his senses finally perked to high-end cologne while they wore tailored jackets, he grew optimistic. Today, he found himself in their shoes. All he could throw on was a white T-shirt that was slightly stained with dust, alcohol, or Sriracha, whatever it was, and his last pair of black jeans.
After his unsuccessful attempt to reach his go-to dealer, Benji, whom everyone called "Speed" for formalities, Mr. Pink decided to make a quick run to the store. He needed to buy another jug of laundry detergent to tackle the pile of clothes waiting to be thrown in the wash. As he made his way through the aisles, he spotted a bag of Nestle coffee on a display, remembering he was running low. He grabbed it and joined the line at the checkout counter, feeling a sense of urgency to complete his errands so he go could back to being anti-social.
As Mr. Pink stood in line, clutching the jug of laundry detergent and a last-minute bag of stimulants that had become more essential to him than drinking water nearly half the time, he impatiently waited for his turn to pay. The small talk between the cashier and the customer ahead seemed to drag on as they spoke in Spanish. He tapped his foot on the linoleum floor, his mind drifting back to the disappearance of Speed.
Mr. Pink squints at the tiny television placed on top of a tower of old, big, and dusty engineering manuals. Speed graduated college five years ago. The screen showed a TV show Mr. Pink slightly recalled watching when he was tiny. "Get Christie Love?"
That was the last encounter Mr. Pink had with him, which was probably a week and a half ago. Speed stopped answering his door or his phone calls. If something bad had happened to him, like a break-in or even a murder, Mr. Pink would have been the last to hear about it. But after running into Speed's other regular customer at the strip club, he never expected to find out he fled to Seattle. In fact, the regular customer called him by his government name, which made him sound like a total loser. He never found out why Speed upped and left, and almost immediately the cannabis withdrawals were kicking in. It intensified that he couldn't help but resent Speed for leaving him high and dry. In his frustration, he yearned to follow Speed up north, not to offer a friendly reunion but to deliver a well-deserved slap in the face.
Mr. Pink returned to reality and looked ahead. The cashier and the customer were smiling at each other now as the conversation got more friendly. Snippets of their discussion reached his ears, and he caught familiar names of TV shows and Latin artists he would hear while switching radio stations.
