The Package was at his feet. That’s what he called him: The Package. No point getting personal. They wouldn’t know each other for long. He might e...en be dead soon. Who knew? No point being on a first name basis with a corpse. ‘Get the fuck up,’ he said. ‘We have to make it to the dumpster. Can you make it?’ The Package was breathing heavily. He was out of condition. He nodded. ‘I….think….so,’ he said between gasps. Fat fuck. Why can’t they send me to get someone fit for once? Even just healthy.. Today was no exception, she walked out of house and saw the gardener busy in the small garden of the bungalow. He was a boy named Langa Dorji, not more that nineteen years old and was son of the peon working in her husband's office. To help the family he use to work as part time gardener in the bungalows. "Good Morning Madam," he greeted Malti as she walked by him. "Good Morning Langa, what are you doing today," she enquired. "Just watering these plants and then will mow the lawn," he answered. More

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