Thirty

"...like you said Sammy, the quitin' ain't done til we rich or we dead." Sam stared at the ground, admiring the cracks in the cement, mirroring the spider veins in his old ladies gams. "You listenin'!?" Carl spat out, dinosaur-farts escaping from rotting incisors. Samuel felt the spit hit his cheek, strangely had him recalling father's dirty hands. That was all he needed. He cocked back the trigger and started running.