“Everything changes,” Mario whispered into the darkness. “Nothing stays the same. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something.”
He sighed and ran the muzzle of the gun along his jawline in a kind of perverse caress.
“I’ll tell you one thing that will change,” Myra stomped into the room and emptied the last First Federal Bank bag onto the bed. “If you don’t get your morose ass up and counting this money, your percentage is gonna drop from 50 to 30. Now, stop playing with that thing before you blow your fool head off.”
(I keep writing characters I want to get to know better. Mario sounds like a morose philosophizing bank robber and Myra is a pistol. I have a feeling she takes crap from no one.)