Beer and bitches. That was Taco’s idea of a good time. It used to be anyway. Now he just kinda…went with it. He didn’t want anyone to think he had gone soft or that he was being a bitch over a bitch, but he was feeling pretty damn salty as of late.
Bambi was still fucking with his head, no matter what he did to try and shake her. No amount of bars, booze, strip clubs, tits or ass, fast cars or blazing a path down the highway on his bike—the one thing that had always worked to clear his head—was able to set him straight. In a word, Taco was well and truly fucked.
