Suburban Dicks

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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I spent a month on this so it ended up fairly coherent. If I'd posted this sooner, it'd liable to be inarticulate blather. I wanted this post to be better than it is, but I think the point gets through.

Satkunananthan Sasmal would have been the first to admit he'd had worse nights working the midnight shift at his uncle's Valero station. For example...there was the old lady who fell asleep while driving and plowed into the first island. Satkunananthan barely hit the kill switch on pump three before diving out of the car's path. The woman rolled down her window and asked him to fill her tank. Regular. Cash.

Then there was that time he had been robbed at gunpoint.

And the other time he had been robbed at knifepoint.

And the other time he had been robbed at spatula-point.

In his defense, it had been one of those long-handled metal barbecue spatulas.

And there was last night, when Satkunananthan Sasmal was murdered.

SUBURBAN DICKS

In what seemed like painfully slow motion, a woman slid out through the open door as if the minivan was oozing an egg yolk. Her legs popped out first, short and stubby, then she slid her body down and out of the seat. As much bowling ball as human, she wiggled her feet until they touched the ground.

She was short, five foot threeish, with an unkempt hive of thick, curly dark hair. Her brown eyes were huge, and—Michelle had no other word for it—feral. She waddled as much as walked. She was more pregnant than any woman Michelle had ever seen in her life, and quite possibly more pregnant than any woman had ever been in the history of human civilization. If Michelle had to guess, she would have estimated the woman was about to give birth to a college sophomore.

and

She stared at him for several seconds, then said, “You're not doing it ‘cause you're a good person.”

“No, I absolutely am not,” he freely admitted. “But good will come of it. I promise you that.”

SUBURBAN DICKS

Veronica Mars

perfect