SEX AND THE BOY ✓

ON THIS EPISODE OF FELONBUSTERS

"I KNOW A PLACE, WHERE the grass is really greener. Warm, wet and wild, there must be something in the water. Sipping jamba juice, laying underneath the palm trees..." The redhead sings along to the radio, bopping her head to the music with uncanny excitement, her hands tapping the wheel to the heavy rock beats.

Even Kaolin is nodding to Katy Perry's seraphic voice concocted with such sugar and sin, he's also amused seeing the lady repeatedly bite her lip and jiggle her shoulders a bit before laconic dipping of her head.

Why is everybody so happy except him? Kaolin runs his eyes across the lady's features like I mean, look at her, she looks barely thirty and is an Uber driver. Kaolin can hardly believe girls also drive Uber, or maybe she's just filling the shift for her dad probably slumped at the edge of the Manhattan bridge and napping till the next morning with a cheap expired beer bottle in hand, a bubble of snot ballooning him all the way to the Emerald City.

"So, you're new in town?"

Kaolin raises an russet brow at her, wondering what prompted such a question. She's staring at him from the mirror, it's a little dark but her bug-eye glasses really reflect a lot. The boy runs an emergency raincheck on his countenance to see he's lolling against the door, still lowkey shimmying to California Gurls and peering so forlorn into the evening. The rookie New Yorker really jumped out. "No," he replies with as much apathy as possible.

"So you stay around here?" She asks this with a sneer directed towards downtown outstretched before them.

"No."

"You're not a talker, are you?"

"No."

"You're stopping here?"

"No. Wait! Yes, oh my god. Yes!"

The ginger lady bursts in laughter, her mushroom of keratin dropping on the wheels.

Kaolin rolls his eyes and walks out of the taxi sporting a marble scowl. His tongue running across his teeth while cursing the wind that blew a stray curl into his left eye, he's already frustrated.

Strapping his backpack closer to himself and tucking his hands into his pockets, he dips his head before his shoulder and jogs as fast as his legs can carry him, as fast as a jog is supposed to be.

Just around him are honorable residents of the bridge above that is so benevolent enough to offer a canopy. Some are stretching plates to him for alms, for weed, even for a shag. All Kaolin can muster is a sneer and his head heading forward.

As Kaolin nears his destination, he rehearses his composure, his words and overall presentation as it hasn't been long, a month or two that he started dealing with this type of people but familiarity isn't still existent and being extra careful amongst people like them is needful. Especially in situations like this, which has only happened once though; this time, when he delayed delivery and stash expired in his possession.

Kaolin knows he's in for a good beating, if not firing but that will probably never happen because not just because his boss has a blatant crush on him, he hasn't messed up once to need one. Once again, fuck Leroi for always poking that nose that is almost as big as his dick into people's business, business that clearly doesn't concern him. Leroi forced him to set the stash on fire in their basement but Leroi as dumb as he is didn't know Kaolin replaced it with fake. But delivery was delayed because the dumbass monitored all his activities for a whole week.

The floating smell of spiked weed notifies Kaolin that he has reached his destination. Night is creeping in, a planetary shadow accompanying it but a huge blanket of orange from a burning barrel pierces through the latter and nervousness washes over Kaolin.