Psycho made it look easy, but I guess quicksand can’t swallow a car whole. And before you compare me to some antisocial crackpot with a serious Oedipus complex, it’s my religious fanatic dad who’s the screwball.
He owns a used car lot, selling scrap metal to farmers. But since “those damn fags started marrin’ each other,” he’s been spray painting Oldsmobiles the color of the rainbow, hanging “Just Married” signs on bumpers.
Jacob wants to buy one for us, but dad’s already lost a son. He won’t even blink when he stuffs our bodies in a trunk with the others.
word count: 100
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