JadenDreamer

The little girl stares at me as I walk down the grocery aisle. In her stunned state she's forgotten all about the finger digging up her nose. It hangs there wet and dripping before her face as curious eyes drink up the sight of me. Her mother, blond, thin, and probably a model in younger years, makes no move to correct the child's behavior. Maybe if she wasn't staring she would, then again, maybe not. It could be the machete strapped to my back, or the black lipstick I use to compliment my gothic attire. Hell, without the trench coat my sawed off shotgun would stand out like a sore thumb. It's easier to hide the knives at both hip and ankle,

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