"In the high key sunrise of that early summer Sunday, one fact shone hotter than anything a man could see: Candice pulled it off. She got the text from Peru, tendered her resignation, and as she exited the station, she shed that uniform like dead skin. As she strutted to the white Le Baron softop - top down - it was as if the door didn’t even open, because it didn’t. She was rich, she was a hero, she was shotgun, and not a shot was fired.
Elsewhere downtown, a worker sweating through his $200 suit snapped and said “Fuck It!,” crossing Bay Street on the hand instead of the white man and gathering speed he would ride forever.
Candice bit the tip of a Silk Cut, ripped it from the pack like a splash. She rode off into the blazing day, thirty plus, the past could catch her ash.”
-Page 117 of Lenny Sculmane’s “Credit Crash”
(Source: sangredeltoro, via powerful-art)