Holy Fuck

I'll give it a shot. Thanks!!

No time for reaction or action or influence on the timing, shifted, “did you buy Me anything? - Huh, huh? whutjaget?” Without delay intermittently heading beneath the red gleans along the slanted, “when a customer wishes to talk they will just go and you cannot shut them up,” Jane’s explanation before Inspector Shroud; before him; and not actually to him, but to this worker with an assemblage of some sort of junk food lunch, or chocolate milk, mini bag of chips, and a box of donuts. Finally, slides across to the officer conveying the belt down or in wriggled madness down the belt only foreseeable to the overcrowding locals looming leans in and around him. Back off. “Jimmy! You monster!” – Shroud calculates ‘What’s this?’—'what’s wrong – what’s wrong!??' Erupts from in within out of nowhere with chuckled terror, a bitten grin. Then Inspector Shroud grabs Janes’ shoulder in gooned giggles and plaque eye-grips, tells her so interestingly sad,

“Jimmy’s probably lived 10,000 silences across these scenes and this setting of life... And now, Now you want to have a little chat with him??” From the closeness, the twisted carnival tune perks his ears. 10,000 ears in each cynical pulse elongate the euphoric deep deep hearts of the last hopes for the kid in unified joyful sounds, yet the place is completely empty now. Snuck down immediately by a creepy sneering, breathes lighter and lighter, crawling feels around grinning, reflexing, Shroud shoves out his magnum straight on up into Janes’ guts, "well, C’mon then. Talk..” Crooks a grin so sinfully playfully, “let’s talk to your boyfriend.” The gun shot accidentally erupts and shatters out through sounds just in pieces and screams instantly infinite quieting the streets as He snaps out of the delirium and shreds then in the official holiday tunes that return him back into the godawful ragged town through his own oubliette to claim his own little feast of a rum. The cashier carefully helps him come undone from these hugs of isolation. Shroud nearly bites her like a dog. It has been too long since he has had human connection; at least ones alive; been in this small town too long investigating. But alas, Jane’s soft scent soothes the Inspector, “find everything you need today?” and her eyes claim him all the way in that misery, a definition of animation that makes Shroud see the exhibition; and decipher the next victim. Holy Fuck. Unto her stern terror Shroud beguiles, "You're next." Then into his very own --'did that slip out loud?'