Joce

“I want to know what’s going on in your brain. I want to juice your head like a lemon.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“So, how was work? You clearly missed me.”

I put my hands on my face in embarrassment and he just laughs a bit to himself.

“It was boring.” It’s the truth.

“No one to antagonize, huh?”

“I tried abusing some of the gentle folk in payroll but they got all teary.”

“The trick is to find that one person who can give it back as good as they can take it.” He takes out a pan and begins to fry the vegetables in a single, stingy drop of oil.

“Sonja Rutherford, probably. That scary lady in the mailroom that looks like an albino Morticia Addams.”

“Don’t line my replacement up too quick. You’ll hurt my feelings.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“He advances like a floating Dracula. The menace is ruined by the sporting-goods-store bag loudly crinkling against his leg. A shoebox is in it, judging from the shape.

Imagine the wretched sales assistant who had to help Joshua choose shoes.I require shoes to ensure I can effectively run down the targets I am paid to assassinate in my spare time. I require the best value for my money. I am size eleven”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“He glances over his shoulder, no doubt hearing my insanely loud shoes stop in their tracks. Then he looks again. It’s a double take for the record books.

“I’m out stalking,” I call. It doesn’t come out the way I’d intended. It’s not lighthearted or funny. It comes out like a warning. I’m one scary bitch right now. I hold my hands up to show I’m not armed. My heart is racing.

“Me too,” he replies. Another cab cruises past like a shark.

“Where are you actually going?” My voice rings down the empty street.

“I just told you. I’m going out stalking.”

“What, on foot?” I come closer by another six paces. “You were going to walk?”

“I was going to run down the middle of the street like the Terminator.”

The laugh blasts out of me like bah.I’m breaking one of my rules by grinning at him, but I can’t seem to stop.

“You’re on foot, after all. Stilts.” He gestures at my sky-high shoes.

“It gives me a few extra inches of height to look through your garbage.”

“Find anything of interest?” He strolls closer and stops until we have maybe ten paces between us. I can almost pick up the scent of his skin.

“Pretty much what I was expecting. Vegetable scraps, coffee grounds, adult diapers.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game