Jazzmin Flush (4)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (4)"
   
   Taco days--so cheesy.  Jazzmin Flush tightened a soft shell around a hearty scoop of sour cream over pulled chicken and shredded cheddar; next, she willfully wrapped  up the yummy edible, sending it on its way.  Then, her Mexian friend Fredrica gently squeezed her arm, and took her behind the diesel-burning taco truck.  "Smoke break."
   Fredrica, sucking down the preserving tobacco product, it armed with a charcoal filter, dished:
   "You gotta pray for my bro, Thomas.  He's been locked inside his government-funded trailer for nine months.  Chiseled by the angels he is.  Yet after dismissing horn-hungry girls and their wanting vaginal cavities--they cursed him.  He's a solitary man, and it's unfair to fight demons after having been touched by angels.  Guy has set himself on holy fire, purifying his celibacy; still, they come--all because he won't lay their desired pipe; specifically, he won't make fun and play with reptiles.  Even these canonized whores' boyfriends wanna kill him cause their girlfriends have a thirsty urge for his angelity.  It's so cruel and unusually usual Jazzmin."
   Jazzmin Flush borrowed the burning butt.  Inhaled, exhaled, letting her innards carry her pure yearnings to Grandfather and His Holy Family.  Maybe, maybe, she'd splurge and get some peach schnapps in a recycled glass bottle on the way home.  God Bless Thomas and his lack of bold to battle with rotten fruit she thought, further knowing:  Once the sophisticated lame make divine friends, there is nothing offered to adversarial parties save--MIRROR OF JUSTICE and TOWER OF IVORY.