"I need food" said Jerry.
"We're almost there" replied Fredrick
Carmen didn't say anything.
'There' was the next exit and it was only a few miles down the road. Stepping out of the car, the heat of the day hit them. Shimmering mirages danced off the tar sealed parking lot.
The petrol station they had stopped at had a restaurant inside. It wasn't anything special, barely even a diner.
They had just sat down when a tall man with a black gottee joined them. "Did you bring it with you?" he asked Jayde in his thick American accent. She barely nodded. "Then get it out and hand it over!" he demanded.
She opened her purse. As she reached in, she stopped. There was a sweet musky smell wafting around her. She looked up. It wasn't coming from the American so she looked around. Behind her stood Clive.
Clive believed above all else that any day a model agency would discover him. Therefore he dressed like a model. Which really was a massive insult to all models, possibly worse for designers.
Every part of Clive's wardrobe was over exaggerated. His over large shirt had 'decorative' holes cut into it. Florescent green hot pants and thongs completed the look. His hair was gelled to stand at all different angles. He apparently bathed in Cologne.
While Clive believed he was destined for the cat walk, he spent his real life posing as a hired thug....a hired thug who preferred pistols to actual fist fights.