the smuggler’s bible

Johnie

The portal has a shimmer to it. Sort of bluish, but with a hazy white sparkle that, as far as Johnie cares to evaluate, is straight vibes.

“Got to be something good, right?”

“It is absolutely impossible to say for sure.”

“I mean, not yet. But, seriously, look at it. I bet it goes to heaven.”

“If you insist on approaching from a Judeo-Christian frame of reference—”

“Blah blah blah,” Johnie says, flapping a hand. “You know what I mean. Puppy dogs, clouds, soft music.” Her eyes shine with reflected light. “And all the greasy fuckin’ money we can spend.”