Hot wind from open window of battered Ford cargo van hits dry red flaky patch on cheek, sweat oozing from scattered age spots on crescent haired skull. In a Z4 convertible, a couple pulls adjacent at the light. Salt and pepper hair breezes above Armani shades, stubble square jaw, Brioni linen shirt. His companion, ten years younger, lets loose hair caress thin shoulders of sun bronze skin in bikini top, lips glossing a smile. You drag and drag on the Carlton, but the taste of air doesn't extend.
To call this a "romantic comedy with bite" completely misleads: révélation absolument noir comme No Country for Old Men, frères Coen suite.
Wrapped on styrofoam tray beneath plastic, blue pickled chicken necks twist to closed reptile eyes.
Hollywoodland lashes blinker to borderland swill feeding Lifetime Channel dreary backyard swimming poolboy pecs.
The silent instinct of a cattle gun punches a hole through the brain of future dinner at In and Out, blood congealing in an El Paso alley.
Rottweiler pining / shotgun loving share a defining commitment with Bvlgari 18k white gold full pavé diamond band.
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