Vincent tore the stolen bread with a ferocity that belied its stale crust without telling off he was actually expressing his grumpy mode and the morning sun barely piercing the gray clouds over the abandoned motel lot.
Marcus sat beside him on a crate, munching quietly, crumbs dusting his lap as he chewed with a calm that masked his earlier chaos.
The bread, pilfered from the sleeping shop lady, was their makeshift breakfast a bitter irony for Vincent, whose thoughts churned like a storm and making his head break in tension . His eyes flicked repeatedly to his cracked phone, the notification taunting him: "Bastard Austin - 10 Missed Calls."
Faint Excitement pulsed through him maybe the hacker had cracked the card, turning him into a millionaire munching stolen bread.
The possibility was a lifeline he couldn't ignore anymore.
