‘I got a red hot brain stem bae- gonna short circuit all over you.’ My buddy says running his nitrile hands over my cortex, fingering my whorls. He’s so smooth he could charm the pineals out of Elon. He’s helping me more than Catholic school ever could. ‘Let’s see how much you know now. I can scry your life from these gizzards like a wizard, bae.’ His fingers invade, his voice hypnotizes. His boys hang back, smoking, watching the monitors watching the outside containing my insides in a root cellar.
What’d I tell you? Smooooth.