Stinky pyro

eerie

𒀃𒀅𒀊𒀃 𒀚𒀘𒀨𒀤 𒀴𒀱𒀭𒀊 𒉅𒉆𒉇 𒂦𒁦𒁶

Judy Hopps is the reason I work out. I have this fantasy where we start talking on a street corner in Little Rodentia. We exchange a few pleasantries. She asks what I do. I say I'm a florist. She laughs. I get my drink. "It's called a hustle sweetheart." I say and walk away. I've got her attention now. How many guys voluntarily leave a conversation with Judy Hopps? She touches her neck as she watches me leave. Later, as the day's dragged on and the coterie of flaming animals grows increasingly loose, she finds me on the balcony, my bowtie undone, smoking a cigarette."Got a spare?" she asks. "What's in it for me?" I say as I hand her one of my little white ladies. She smiles. "Conversation with me, duh." I laugh.

"What's so funny?" she protests. "Nothing, nothing... It's just... don't you grow tired of the predators?" "You get used to it," she says, lighting her cigarette and handing me back the lighter. "What would you do if you weren't a police officer?" I ask. "Teaching, I think." "And if I was your student, what would I be learning?" "Discipline," she says quickly, looking up into my eyes, before changing the subject. "Where are you from?" "Sahara Square," I say. "Oh wow. That's lovely." "It's ok," I admit. "Not everything is to my liking." "What could possibly be not to your liking in Sahara Square?" she inquires. "I don't like sand," I tell her. "It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere."

⠄⠄⢀⡋⣡⣴⣶⣶⡀⠄⠄⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣴⣿⣿⣿⢃⣤⣄⣀⣥⣿⣿⠄
⠄⠄⢸⣇⠻⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⢀⣠⡌⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⠄
⠄⢀⢸⣿⣷⣤⣤⣤⣬⣙⣛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⡍⠄⠄⢀⣤⣄⠉⠋⣰
⠄⣼⣖⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢇⣿⣿⡷⠶⠶⢿⣿⣿⠇⢀⣤
⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣥⣴⣿⡗
⢀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠄
⢸⣿⣦⣌⣛⣻⣿⣿⣧⠙⠛⠛⡭⠅⠒⠦⠭⣭⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠄
⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠹⠈⢋⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⣾⠃⠄
⠄⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⣴⣿⣶⣄⠄⣴⣶⠄⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠄
⠄⠄⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢻⣿⣿⣿⠄⣿⣿⡀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⠛⠁⠄⠄
⠄⠄⠄⠄⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠞⢿⣿⣿⡄⢿⣿⡇⣸⣿⣿⠿⠛⠁⠄⠄