He couldn’t sleep, but nor did he dare go over the plan again; his mind kept wandering. Was he really going to go through with it? Was he really as crazy as fucking fatboy? Crazy enough to go through with that stupid, ridiculous, childish idea? And all so Franco could dip his wick in some woman! As if a rotten swamp of a cunt justified all that effort, all that energy, the carnage that was to come, their lives devastated, everything gone for a second-rate fucking snatch: a grubby, slimy, murky hole. What was that fat fucker even thinking?
