midastook - Tumblr blog

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Poor man wanna be rich. Rich man wanna be king. And a king ain’t satisfied ‘til he rules everything.

Bruce Springsteen, Badlands

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               WHAT’S REAL OR ISN’T REAL DOESN’T MATER HERE.                                THE CONSEQUENCES ARE THE SAME.

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                             WHAT IS human existence? it turns out it’s pretty simple:                              we are dead stars, looking back up at the sky.                                       independent & private multifandom multimuse

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“RAY” RIVERA          VISAGE.

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BLOODROMEO // STARTER.

      Ray liked to think about himself as a friendly guy, cool guy. Not psycho-friendly like those old ladies who start talking to strangers in the bus. Not only because he had never stepped inside a public bus in his life, but because he actually had social skills, yeah? The bread and butter of any good business, you gotta know people. So he did know most of the guys in he band. Seen them around as he came or went to meetings with their boss, gave them some friendly chat, said hello to everyone as he came in, knew their names, even those who didn't matter . 

     Even this guy, chauffeur turned bodyguard. Gotta love capitalism. What was his name again? Romeo, *insert mandatory Shakespeare joke, If he knew any Shakespeare, which he didn’t. All he knew was Leo Di Caprio and Carrie Mathison offed themselves thinking the other was dead. Talk about miscommunication problems.

      This guy, he wasn’t not sure if he mattered or not. Had to have something to rise up that quickly. Most errand boys stayed that way, until they died, or were left behind, which happened rather quickly. If they didn’t, you still wanted them in that position, hard to get good trustworthy people, you know? So he did pay some extra attention. Gut instinct and all. Though thing with the worldly-famous gut instinct no one tells you is: hard to understand what the fuck it’s it saying except. Hey! Asshole, pay attention. 

      “Tell me what you think here, honest.” He had came out--- intentionally--- for a smoke. “Am I losing my time or you think they’ll agree to do business?”

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In the parking lo he leaned against the Chevy, stood looking off towards the mountain ranges ringing Tucson. Catalinas to the north, Santa Rita to the south, Rincon east, Tucoson west. The whole city was a compass. How could anyone ever have gotten so hopelessly lost here?

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We need to go to the police.

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“Capitalists honor the First Commandment—Thou Shalt Not Fuck with the Money.”

Savages by Don Winslow

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stop putting these things on my dash val im dying

No

can’t

do

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pensou‌.

it seemed safest to stay where she was, feigning leisure while every muscle in her body strained to go.   things weren’t quite moving in slow motion, but if it turned out the world was spinning underwater she wouldn’t be surprised.   his voice came from far away, somewhere above the thunderous rabbit’s pace of her heart, but he was still between her and the door and she didn’t dare make a sudden move until she knew more.   she just had to breathe.

if she could have played it cool, she would.   normally she’d slide into nonchalance like a second skin and smile a lazy smile that might grant her access to her own freedom.   “uh…yeah?   okay?”   she didn’t like ipa, slotted them somewhere near the bottom of her list, but if he was offering it meant more time to talk her way out of trouble.   if only she’d had more sleep then she wouldn’t be so worried about getting burned by whatever fire she was suddenly playing with. 

“you go around offering drinks to every ghost you meet is or am i just special?”

      “You're here aren't you? That makes you pretty special” he opens both beers and offers one to her. Some bizarre shit. Anyone looking at them would think they are old pals catching up after closing. Except maybe for the fact that this chick is so tense she looks like she might pop an artery or something.

      That's no good. He doesn't mean to scare her that much. His pal Alonso--- *look up: biker dude he launders money for--- told him once, a little fear is always healthy for business. Specially in their kind of business. Crooks can smell weakness like a fucking shark, and then they are on you. Then you wake up--- or don't wake up--- turned into meat soup. He wonders if maybe there was a threat hidden in there some where....

      Anyway, back to present time, thief is still tense. Okay, what to do about that?

      “Don't worry, you're not grounded.” He assured her, lifting the back of his shirt to show there was no gun there. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Little fear necessary and all, but what can you do? “You did exactly what you were meant to do.” He shrugged, then had a sip of his beer. No, it wasn't good. Tasted like piss left to brew in a metallic tank. Awesome. What the fuck was he supposed to do with three boxes of this shit now?

      Hey, focus, one problem at the time.

      “That right there, golden envelope. That's your pay. You can take it, go home." He feels very proud about the golden envelope. Marketing is all. “Or you can have your piss-beer, finish the job interview.” Nailed-it.

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What’s the first question they ask you? “Do you regret your crime?”

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Starter... call???

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                                              CON DINERO & CON DINERO