SYLVESTER'S LIVING ROOM
The ticking clock echoed through the quiet living room. Sylvester sat on the leather couch, his legs crossed, a thick newspaper spread open in his hands. His eyes scanned the headline, jaw clenching tighter with every word. Just as he dropped the paper on the center table with a loud slam, the front door opened.
Bonnie walked in slowly, removing her sunglasses and tossing them onto the table without a glance, and picking up a glass of water.
"Bonnie," Sylvester’s voice boomed, loud and sharp, like a whip c***k.
She stopped in her tracks.
He stood up, face tight with anger, fists clenched by his sides. "What the hell were you doing? Why did you run someone over?"
Bonnie scoffed, walking over to pour herself a drink. "Don’t yell at me. I already had enough from
