Everything Is Love Reimagined by Gerard Way #3
“You’re full of shit!” Richard barked. He lit a Camel and turned to jean.
“Let’s get some eggs…”
Jean had a counterfeit slave-unit in his brain that gave him a constant chocolate-craving and occasionally glitched our. If also caused him to see the same four macro-lens images in his mind’s-eye every time he fired a weapon or sneezed. They would flash in rapid succession and it always went like this—
Jean fired the Lola, and his frontal lobe showed him the wonders of science and nature. Randora sparks of crimson-purple jerked and shifted around Quan’s head and body Born-holes so instant, it looked like a magician’s trick M.
Quiet and completely dead. blue vapor rose up from Quan’s body. Obscuring the crude Arabie graffiti on the curve of concrete behind him. Richard and Jean criade their way over to what used to be Quan, covering their mouths with old bandanas. Scoreh-vapor was toxic.
“How do you fell right now?”
Richard asked muffled
Zoned-out. Jean was staring at te Arabic graffiti.
“I don’t feel anything at all I think”
“What does this tag say?”
Richard looked up and squinted his eyes.
“It says ‘Everything Is Love.’
” He let our a small cough.”
They stared at the wall.
Jet’s had the best eggs and everybody knew that.
Richard and Jean finished matching over-easys at the sat__ time chaining orange juice with water, followed by coffee but never com__ing the three. They preferred paying the ch__ long before leaving and Jet’s policy of “bottomless cups” made this a po___ for chatty customers, though usually, they were not.
“I’m pretty sure it’s true…”
“Lake my gut is definitely saying so,”
Hushed and paranoid, Richard sipped
“Like looking into a mirror but the birthmarks are wrong” Jean was calm.
“We should get out of here.” he said
“Oh yeah…” and Richard startled to get up, remembering it was his turn to be the car, a gimmick they pulled to visually put people off their scent.
“I’ll meet you around the back.”
And he walked toward the restroom
Harver peered out of what was left of the top floor window on the Deck Street house. Behind him, the sound of commercial jetliners crashing set to break beats filled the room, the newest album by Quatro Sun.
The Statiscope Harver used was second-hand, its software pireled, but it mostly cooperated. Through its three dirty leases and the drizzle, he could make out one man (white) and one cat (gray), heading forward the house through the field of burnishing cars.
“Smooth___…” he sand to himself, and them he called…. [continues]