Dominic sat in a swing bar, the Landing, nursing a drink paid for by the man he’d mugged earlier tonight. In one hand he held his drink, a Long Island Iced Tea, while in the other he held the jeweled rosary, slowly counting the beads, pushing them down the strand with his thumb one at a time. From a first glance, one could tell the rosary was old; far older than the man was who Dominic had gotten this from. It had inscriptions on the cross though they were so faded and in a different language that Dominic had no chance of making them out. He shrugged, wrapping the jeweled beads around his wrist, palming the cross while he took another sip from his drink.
Saturday, June 13, 2015
Sunday, June 7, 2015
Every Sunday, I crawl up from my crypt and venture out into the world of the living to see what the big deal is. I do this both to get groceries and run errands and to remind myself why I hate the human race so much. And boy, after the day I had being out and about with some of the best representatives of humanity, I am reminded why I'm such a social recluse.