American Beauty, American Psycho

American Psycho

Al's POV

Allen Jones kicked a rock, dragging his feet down the sidewalk. "Why the fuck does Oliver make us recite that damn 2p motto, anyway? I know I'm bad. I know that's good. Why do I gotta hold hands and state it in front of everyone? Especially that stupid commie."

"Give it a rest, eh?" Matt sauntered beside him. "Complaining ain't gonna make it any better at the meetings."

Allen brushed Matt off, then took a turn down the sidewalk.

"Where are you going?" Matt followed, trying to avoid the nails on his brother's bat.

"Gonna go stare at that stupid White House replica. I'd love to meet the rich asshole that lives inside of it. Give him a nice high five. With a chair. In the face."

"Just because you live in an apartment doesn't make you poor," Matt said, but didn't stop Allen. As much of a proud Canadian as he was, the White House was a nice piece of work. Allen stopped at the gates, then dropped his bat at his feet and put his forehead against the bars.

"Hey." Allen glanced over at Matt, cocking his head.

"Oh god. That's your 'shits gonna go down' face. What are you plotting?"

"Nah, nothin. Just a little break-in," Allen grinned from ear to ear. "Get a bit of good drinks, maybe a bit of money, rough up the owner a bit. All that fun stuff." Matt paused.

"I'm in."

"Tonight. Midnight. I wanna meet this guy, living the high life." Allen picked up his bat, chuckled a little, then strolled down the sidewalk.