The sneering voice, fat and oily with profit and lust, growled its tangible piles of hate across the radio waves, making trees wither a sickness in a vast pulse, a pill-popping prophet of hate. Budd sneers at people going by in cheaper cars, and he turns green with jealousy at one's with better cars. Those on the same car level with Budd get favored with indifference. His internal mantra sounded over and over again with a question as old as Budd's life "Where's mine? Where's mine?"
Budd stared at people who had more than he did and he asked bitterly, "Where's mine?"
He stared at those who about the same in life, and he inquired "Where's mine?"
He even glared at those who had far less than himself, like a street person pushing a banged up shopping cart around, and asked, with green jealousy, "Where's mine?"
Budd pushed the Gerald Ellon audio-book ME ME Me into his stereo; it had become his personal bible. He pulled up to the lodge, gritting his teeth in anger over the agents who had gotten there even earlier than he and who now had the best spaces -- did they fucking live here? Budd parked his car under the bird-shit tree. He gritted his teeth in anger as he approached the door. A suspicious van passes by on the street as Budd walks towards the lodge, he tosses his lit cigarette onto the finely trimmed lawn. Budd stops and turns to stare at the van. He squints his mind at the van, it swerves as it drives away. Budd does not like the vibes he got from that van; he wants to follow it and kill everyone inside, just for safety's sake.
His intention folds a yellow vile drop in sleeping children's hearts.