Futuristic Violence And Fancy Suits - Plot & Excerpts
She always felt like her whole lower body was being slowly strangled, and the boobs-to-toe body-shaping garments Tre had her squeeze into were much, much worse. She shuffled toward the grand staircase and saw that below her, the mansion had become a raucous gun party full of burly men chatting in circles and guzzling hopefully nonalcoholic drinks, comparing gear, and sharing anecdotes that were punctuated with hand gestures demonstrating acts of violence. She headed down the stairs, thinking it would be hilarious if the heels caused her to tumble down and break her neck in front of fifty men who’d been hired to protect her. Andre and Armando intercepted her at the bottom of the stairs. Andre was in a black suit that gave little whispers of purple, the colors hidden in the pinstripes and in subtle shades that revealed themselves when the light hit his tie and pocket square. Little splashes of flamboyance in his somber mourning clothes. “Damn, Tre did right by you. You don’t even got to say anything, I can tell by the look on your face, you’re like, ‘I know I look good, we all know it, end of discussion.’”
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