Bill and Jimmy

This story, like most, fell into my mind from pretty much nowhere whilst listening to music.

It's entirely incomplete. I'm posting what I've done thus far with the intent to add more later. Be advised that it, like most of my work, may contain strong language or violence.

Bill shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat of the old pick-up, for what he was sure was at least the hundredth time. Sighing loudly, he thumped his fist against his door, paused, and fussed with the plaid ball cap atop his full, dark brown hair. “Are we almost there, Jimmy? Jesus Christ, it’s been a long-ass drive.”

Dark blue eyes glanced towards Bill, framed by pale, heavy cheeks, two chins, and the beginnings of a receding hairline. His face twisted into a scowl as his gaze returned to the road. “You ain’t even doin’ the drivin’, Bill. Shut the fuck up. We’re almost there.”

“Man, you shut the fuck up,” Bill grumbled. A mosquito made a loud landing on his muscled arm, declaring war on his flash. It was promptly crushed and the remains wiped onto the dash board. “You said we were goin’ huntin’. Since when did we drive from Georgia to Tennessee to shoot a fuckin’ deer?”

“Since you made friends with every cop in the goddamned state,” Jimmy growled, shooting Bill another glare. Meaty hands clenched down on the steering wheel. “Maybe when you can get yourself a license again, much less a fuckin’ job and a goddamned motherfuckin’ car, you can bitch.”

Bill opened his mouth to complain, but stopped short. Settling back into his seat, he eyed bill for a moment before letting his gaze drift to the woods.