After we all said our goodbyes, Blake walked to my car and told me exactly where he lived and we chatted and laughed on the way. He was cute and I ask...d how old he was — and he was three years older than I imagined. I asked if he smoked weed and I pulled out a joint. “But I don’t smoke in my car,” I said.He said we could smoke in his driveway. I was impressed that he lived on the beach and not in the gross city. He’d moved in a few months ago and, after I’d parked and we’d smoked, he said, “You. Too short, too many questions, not enough sense in that thick head of his. Besides, he was gonna kill a lady. I had to put him down. He was a calm one, the cool, creepy kind of calm that makes a serial killer out o’ men. Psychotic calm. The former owner of my uncomfortable ass tuxedo wanted to off some dame because she was a smoker. I clubbed her with the grip o’ my pistol, but I let her live. The unlucky recipient of my brand o’ subterfuge however, wasn’t so lucky. He was a little thick, and a. More

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