the smuggler’s bible


Perun puts the car in park at the red light and hits the intersection at a dead sprint that carries him over the parking lot in eleven seconds.

He shoulders the door so hard that instead of ringing, the bell just sort of rattles in pain. “Hey, watch it, man,” the kid behind the counter says.

“Shut your mouth.” Perun slams a flyer down. “This shit says the deal is good all day, and that means I have—” He looks up at the clock on the wall, just as the honking begins outside. “Oh, wow. No, not even close, huh?”