Locked up with the Badboy.

I take a seat on the floor in front of him, "What?"

He combs a hand through his dark hair and sighs, "This is a maximum security prison, the people here have killed babies, shot up schools , killed multiple partners and run crime rings and you, are saying that I'm mean? "


24. Broke.



The police must’ve put images of us on T.V.” Ben says as I clamber onto the motorbike behind him, “We need to change our appearances.”

“Mhmm,” Not really paying attention I open the bag she’d thrown to us. Inside are two folded leather jackets. “Hey Ben.” I say cutting off his saying that maybe I should act like a guy, “Two leather jackets man, we’re back in business.”

I unroll mine, loving the feel of the sheepskin inner, it fits me perfectly while Ben’s is a couple sizes too big. But when he zips it up he gives a sigh of contentment, “You can’t be a motorbiker without a leather jacket.”

“Yeah…” I say tilting my head, “And you need a motorbike too is that right?”

“We have a motorbi…” Ben stops and nods, “You have a motorbike.”

“Yep, you can be my lackey.” I say, putting on my helmet and smiling.

“Oh mighty master? Can I drive please?”



“Maybe later if you find me dinner and a place to sleep Mr lackey.” As he wraps his arms around me and holds on tight we pull out from the motel, new leather jackets flapping in the wind.

Ben points the way, he appears to have an internal G.P.S because he manages to avoid all major roads and towns. Passing through the main street of Eli's Junction Ben points to a gas station. We pull into the forecourt and he hands me our two last $1 notes with great ceremony. “Spend them wisely young one,” he warns.

“Oh please, it’s two dollars.” I dismount, and start walking toward the door, I run a hand through my hair; it needs a serious wash, it’s starting to get a little oily.

“But it’s our last two dollars,” he calls as the automatic door opens before me. Cool air-conditioned air blasts over my face. I inhale it.

Walking in, I scan the shelves looking for something that will fill us up for two dollars. There’s chips, coke, pepsi, chips, bubblegum, gum.

I buy a loaf of bread. At $1.90 it’s leaving us in the positive, but then there is the downside that it tastes like processed paper and probably has a similar nutritional value. I munch on a crust as a sixteen year old hands be my ten cents.

“Got the munchies?” she asks with a laugh.

“Impossibly so.” I take out another piece of bread, hunger is the best chef.

She picks up a lollypop from a container that says CHILDEREN ONLY on the side, “Here, take this.”

“Am I a child?” I take it anyway, craving some sugar.

“Nah, but that bread must be pretty tasteless. You need it more then most of the little shits that come in here.”

Smiling at her display of emotion, I bow my head in thanks. Outside I make a lollypop sandwich, it’s not half bad. Ben has disappeared, I sit on our motorbike by myself. I’m mostly content with just eating but small worries begin to plague my mind, Where is Ben?

Five minutes, four pieces of bread later Ben slinks down the side of the garage with a finger to his lips. He looks like a sexy burglar.

“Hey Ben.” I say as he runs past the garage storefront, “What are you doing man?”

He slides onto the front of the bike, obviously forgetting that I’m supposed to be the driver/rider/whatever. He reaches underneath his jacket, “I stole some spraypaint.”

“Oh, really? I feel bad for taking the lollypop now.”

“What lollypop?” he asks, starting the bike and hooning us onto the country road. I wrap my arms around him, feeling the can of spray tucked into his waistband.

“The girl at checkout, she gave me a lollypop.”


“Probably because she felt sorry for me, buying the cheapest loaf of bread in the whole store. And hey I saved you some.”

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