She stuffed her laugh for later when she could truly enjoy it and watched Percy edging his stalk-this-useless-town Saab up next to her El Camino. What an ass! He was the only guy she knew who actually circled the neighborhoods with a boom box on top of his car canvassing; proud representative of this deathtrap town.
Thick knees were what she noticed first when his fat self twitched and wrenched itself out of the car. They were two, vast trees growing like the rest of him. She could count the belly bulges, ring by ring, exploding out of his sweaty shirt that showed how close he was to the political cord. But she had the goods on him. She had dumped his ass as soon as he unhinged his deplorable ambitions: one of many freaks she met who needed to be president and pimp.
Percy saw her standing there with her hands on her hips and a smirk on her face and grew slightly paler. He straightened his tie, shook out his trousers and tucked in his overstretched shirt. His smile spread like the whore that he was, the bullshitter opened his expansive mouth and said “Speak of the devil,” as he trudged and wheezed toward her.
“Devil,” she screwed up her face and smiled. “Now that’s sweet. Am I the one with a wife, three kids and how many girls you been doing on the side, I can’t keep up? Amazing you can still catch them.”