Narrative Essay On Mean Girls

Kim and they make a deal and to finger us.”
“What are you going to do to make sure that doesn’t happen?”
Garland shoots her a cool glare, “I’m going to Costa Rica, leaving in the next few hours. There’s no way the Feds are ever going to find them, at least not alive.”
She calms down -- walks to the bed and sits.
“Do we have time for a quickie, I need to get laid?”
“Of course, we do.”
The both begin taking off their clothes.
Two hours later, Myra and Garland are in bed, enclosed in a pool of sweat. Myra’s face has this invigorated rush look, sort of like junkies getting a fix. Garland has an orange glow, the effects of top grade one hundred percent pure cocaine, Peruvian Marching Powder, as it were. His eyes are bloodshot red, his hair tousled

– And that means your girlfriend, Kim too! I know all about you and her kicking it at the Beverly Hills Hotel on Tuesdays and Thursdays, fucker, while I was on the set!!! Why are you trying to act like I’m stupid, Garland?!”
“Myra, Kim was never ever my girlfriend! You’re imagining things again!” “Imagine my ass, just warning you. She can’t be trusted. She’s no good, the heart is black as night, I know her, Garland, I’m telling don’t go down there and get played by her. She’ll double cross your ass in a New York minute.”
He crosses to a nightstand and snorts another line of blow, looks up, and in a tone resembling Al Pacino’s Tony Montana in the 80s iconic gangster flick

****
CHAPTER 11
VIVA LA SANTA TERESA
A few miles south of the small beach town Santa Teresa, Costa Rica. Santa Teresa is in the Puntarenas Province -- 93 miles west of the capital city of San Jose. Close to the beach is a small cabin not far from the surf. A heavily wooded forest is walking distance, the sand white, and water aqua blue. Several sea vessels can be seen on their way to Panama and Central and South America.
Inside the cabin, the 1977 hit song “If I Can’t Have You,’ by Yvonne Elliman from the ‘Saturday Night Fever’ soundtrack is playing on a laptop computer.
Robbie, seated in jeans, a T-shirt, and sandals, looking like a beachcomber – he’s on his laptop scalping with his mom.
It’s been eight long, agonizing months since he had spoken to Kate. The only information is that she is alive, is still in the agency. Many nights Robbie would wonder if she still loved him, or worst met somebody new. He hated what was going on, drowned his tears in rum many a night. On a tropical beach, filled with beautiful women, it was impossible for Robbie to even entertain the thought of being with