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Post by peru on Oct 17, 2010 0:42:37 GMT -5
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After a certain amount of time spent waiting, Marco usually just gave up and went home.
Now was just about that time. And of course the boy was livid. He had spent most of the day waiting on this one bench in the middle of Mexico City, holding a pair of dribbling popsicles in his hand with the understanding that his brother was not going to fucking leave him waiting there all day, again. But no. That was too easy. Benito was going to make him wait on that bench until he’d more or less gorged himself on twenty of the little frozen treats while trying to actually have one frozen for his brother whenever he actually decided to get off his ass and meet him there. In fact, he had even set to work on making a model log cabin with the left over sticks.
And not only that, Mexico was hot as balls. It had been absolutely nothing like the comfortable Andean temperatures back home; it had been melt-like-the-ice-cream-in-your-hand weather. Fuck Benito. Marco’s stomach was beginning to churn awkwardly with the onset of what was probably a brain freeze mixed with a sugar coma and he was baking under the heat of the sun. With a huff, the boy sent his little popsicle stick cabin tumbling over with a swift kick and rose to his feet, tossing one of the half-melted popsicles he’d been holding onto the dusty ground. The other was placed in his mouth as he began to stomp back toward home, disappointed, sticky, and pissed.
He was totally telling Brazil on you, man. [/justify][/blockquote][/td] [/tr][/table] |
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