Read Online Posey (Low #1.5) by Mary Elizabeth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Elizabeth
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handcuffs around your wrists will be the chocolate kind.
I’ll eat them off, and it won’t be gross.
In a few years, when you’re out of prison and we’re on our own, we’ll let Cupid shove his arrows up our asses, too. Let’s be real, right? The stuffed bears with hearts are adorable, and I want them all.
I’m here with you, Low. I’m here.
Happy Hearts Day, baby.
Poe
POESY,
IF BEIN G sent to prison for four years wasn’t punishment enough, they’ve assigned me to work in the laundry room. I fold men’s underwear and socks all day.
I repent.
Pray for your boy, Poe. I’m in hell.
On the upside, I met this guy, John. He was hemmed up for robbing banks, and his fucking wife turned him in when she found the cash. John got away with a couple hundred thousand dollars before his old lady snitched. Imagine what we could do with funds like that.
We’d live in paradise.
I miss you.
Lowen
P.S. How’s school? I started taking GED classes. Turns out, I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.
LOW,
BAD NEWS.
Your sister turned thirteen, and your mom let her color her hair black. It’s ridiculous, but she embraces the struggling artist thing like a pro. Wait until you see her again, inmate. Gillian isn’t the little girl you left behind. She’s talented and bold and so fucking emotional. I’m pretty sure she resents you, but that’s to be expected.
We all do.
I’ve been at the coffee shop for almost a year, which is good, because between school, work, and visiting you, shooting caffeine directly into my veins is the only reason I’m still alive. Making my own money is cool, and dosing java keeps my heart beating, but the best part of working at this trendy coffeehouse down the street from the college is the hipsters. They’re so ridiculous, Low, and they don’t even know it. Why are they so vague? Like, they’re beige. They take the “gender neutral” thing to heart. Are they a boy or a girl? I don’t know. I really don’t. Do they?
Hipsters say shit like, “I’m going to ride my skateboard inside your establishment because I don’t identify with rules. And, I’m just going to wear this oversized beanie on the back part of my head, even though it’s ninety degrees outside. And, why doesn’t this joint play more Arcade Fire? I need more Arcade Fire with my no-soy, no-gluten, no-liquid, no-taste espresso.”
Seriously.
Fuck hipsters.
You wouldn’t think they tip well, but they do … You know, because they won’t be trapped by the dollar, which is good for my pockets.
It’s good for us. I’ll be ready when you get out.
Poe
POESY,
I PASSE D the math portion of my GED test. Science, though … The struggle continues, and it’s real. Maybe I’m meant to hustle forever because this book-smart crap is way over my head. Not sure how you manage to do it all, but I’m proud of you, girl. Since you insist on waiting for me to get out of the pen, at least one of us has our shit together.
They transferred me out of the laundry room to the kitchen. Not sure if some of these motherfuckers know who my dad is or where I come from, but they look at me like they want something. But my mind is clearer than it has been in a while, Poe. I got a couple of years left in this place, but once I’ve served my time, I’m coming home for good. This isn’t the life I want for you, so I won’t make you live it longer than you already have.
Serving chow is all right, but John was cool, and we don’t have time to talk anymore. On my last day in the laundry room, he told me this story about “Pretty Boy” Floyd. He’s a bank robber from the 1930s who destroyed mortgage papers to erase people’s debt and passed out cash after he took a bank.
That’s where John went wrong. He was a selfish son of a bitch, hiding the money in a shed in his backyard. Spread the wealth. Earn some good karma to make up for the bad shit.
Or maybe that’s just what I would
I’ll eat them off, and it won’t be gross.
In a few years, when you’re out of prison and we’re on our own, we’ll let Cupid shove his arrows up our asses, too. Let’s be real, right? The stuffed bears with hearts are adorable, and I want them all.
I’m here with you, Low. I’m here.
Happy Hearts Day, baby.
Poe
POESY,
IF BEIN G sent to prison for four years wasn’t punishment enough, they’ve assigned me to work in the laundry room. I fold men’s underwear and socks all day.
I repent.
Pray for your boy, Poe. I’m in hell.
On the upside, I met this guy, John. He was hemmed up for robbing banks, and his fucking wife turned him in when she found the cash. John got away with a couple hundred thousand dollars before his old lady snitched. Imagine what we could do with funds like that.
We’d live in paradise.
I miss you.
Lowen
P.S. How’s school? I started taking GED classes. Turns out, I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.
LOW,
BAD NEWS.
Your sister turned thirteen, and your mom let her color her hair black. It’s ridiculous, but she embraces the struggling artist thing like a pro. Wait until you see her again, inmate. Gillian isn’t the little girl you left behind. She’s talented and bold and so fucking emotional. I’m pretty sure she resents you, but that’s to be expected.
We all do.
I’ve been at the coffee shop for almost a year, which is good, because between school, work, and visiting you, shooting caffeine directly into my veins is the only reason I’m still alive. Making my own money is cool, and dosing java keeps my heart beating, but the best part of working at this trendy coffeehouse down the street from the college is the hipsters. They’re so ridiculous, Low, and they don’t even know it. Why are they so vague? Like, they’re beige. They take the “gender neutral” thing to heart. Are they a boy or a girl? I don’t know. I really don’t. Do they?
Hipsters say shit like, “I’m going to ride my skateboard inside your establishment because I don’t identify with rules. And, I’m just going to wear this oversized beanie on the back part of my head, even though it’s ninety degrees outside. And, why doesn’t this joint play more Arcade Fire? I need more Arcade Fire with my no-soy, no-gluten, no-liquid, no-taste espresso.”
Seriously.
Fuck hipsters.
You wouldn’t think they tip well, but they do … You know, because they won’t be trapped by the dollar, which is good for my pockets.
It’s good for us. I’ll be ready when you get out.
Poe
POESY,
I PASSE D the math portion of my GED test. Science, though … The struggle continues, and it’s real. Maybe I’m meant to hustle forever because this book-smart crap is way over my head. Not sure how you manage to do it all, but I’m proud of you, girl. Since you insist on waiting for me to get out of the pen, at least one of us has our shit together.
They transferred me out of the laundry room to the kitchen. Not sure if some of these motherfuckers know who my dad is or where I come from, but they look at me like they want something. But my mind is clearer than it has been in a while, Poe. I got a couple of years left in this place, but once I’ve served my time, I’m coming home for good. This isn’t the life I want for you, so I won’t make you live it longer than you already have.
Serving chow is all right, but John was cool, and we don’t have time to talk anymore. On my last day in the laundry room, he told me this story about “Pretty Boy” Floyd. He’s a bank robber from the 1930s who destroyed mortgage papers to erase people’s debt and passed out cash after he took a bank.
That’s where John went wrong. He was a selfish son of a bitch, hiding the money in a shed in his backyard. Spread the wealth. Earn some good karma to make up for the bad shit.
Or maybe that’s just what I would
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