I'm driving back from Thai takeout and wine and gossip with the bestie when Lucifer appears in the seat of my shitty Pepto Bismol Pinto, bloodied, bandaged, and bruised, a hungry glint in his eye. He sighs like a wounded lion, flexing in the passenger seat, and incinerates daggers with his eyes at me.
"This car is atrociously messy and needs to be cleaned."
"I didn't ask for your opinion, or for you to pop in, Blonde Wonderboy." I grin.
He flexes his lithe muscles and pulls out a cigarette, clouding my etheric vision with ash and smoke. He smells like a gory bar and roses. Smiling like a serpent, he reaches to touch my Candyman ribcage, with bees buzzing in the hives of my raw, bloody lungs and flayed rib cage.
