You stroll into the psychobilly five & dime loose and lazy, although if life was gas for all you know you’re sucking…

A tattoo’s not a picture, it’s a commitment. Not a fashion accessory, neither. Even bollock-naked, you’re still wearing my artwork. Choose right, and you’ll take my ink to the grave. This bloke saunters in, gawking at the flash on the walls.

Shy Anne stared at the gold-framed, Jesus-faced tortilla hanging smack bang center over JT’s bed. Eyes on the prize, girl. Some fool gonna pay me ‘n Nic a damn fortune for that stanky thang. She shivered. JT set the AC near freezing in his double-wide, compressor grumbling outside like a…

You stroll into the psychobilly five & dime loose and lazy, although if life was gas for all you know you’re sucking vapors, close to stalling. Borrowed time, baby. A rack of foxtails twitch as you stride past, picking up what you’re laying down. In the aisle, a carousel of tricks and…