1. A shape came together as he squinted his eyes in reaction to the molting sun. He saw Grace. She was walking down the street with two of his other whores, dressed in nothing but off the rack designer gaudiness. Gucci, Prada, Coach emblems embossed, embedded, embraced with no embarrassment by these imbeciles of fashion. They would fuck a hog if it got them another trip to the outlets. He knew he had these bitches beat, he spit in his hand and went about shining up his diamond studded gold Jesus medallion.
2.The sweet warmth of death embraces him and it is at this moment that he knows everything is going to be ok. His eyes close softly now, as the blood seeps onto the designer's fashions and the runway becomes ruined, forever and eternity can't come soon enough. Sleep now young victim. You have no future trends to follow or be slave to.
