A Story
by Kevin A. González1.
I’m in the back of Bondy’s Civic, getting high in the parking lot at Plaza, when my beeper starts to beep.
“I bet it’s Karla,” I tell Bondy.
“Me lo pico,” Bondy says.
Guille starts laughing, and I grab the beeper and look at the screen. “911,” it says, along with the number for the Last Trolley Inn.
“No,” I say. “It’s a different bitch.”
“Who?” Bondy says.
“Some bitch you don’t know.”
