Claret ♂️

8 October 1990, 2:23 AM. A 7-Eleven in the outskirts of Los Angeles, where junkyards, cheap motels and seedy bars leech off a nearby I-5 off ramp, turning the night into a silent battlefield between sodium streetlamps, cold fluorescent, and alluring neon lights. Asian dude enters the store. Bare muscular chest under a tacky red bike jacket, aviators, slick hair, slick moves - sounds ridiculous, but the guy actually pulls it off as he goes browsing the back aisles. In comes another customer, but this one looks like a smack addict about to decease - pale as death, sunken eyes, flaky skin, totally dehydrated. He's shaking and twitching, and when you ask if he's alright, he pulls out a 9mm and points it straight at your head. He's clearly in agony, and there's an intense plea for forgiveness in his bloodshot eyes as he squeals, "I'm thirsty..." You point at the fridge with the beverages, and the freak turns to notice the Asian guy coming up at him from behind. The creep brings his gun around, the Asian fella makes a chucking motion, a metallic click - nothing. Out of reflex more than anything, the creepy robber pulls the trigger; his barrel explodes, and his chest is pierced by the gun's slide. Before he or you can get a grip of what's happening, he begins to smolder into coarse, pale ash. "So thirsty..." are the last words he can croak before the sizzling decay consumes his frightful countenance.