She drove 80 on the slick highway. Screaming, again. Rushing to him, again. Mother fucker.

He had called 13 minutes earlier, hysterical. That, at least, was a first. Something about Big Worm being smarter than he ever was, and meaner by far. How he was wrong (again) about his “asymmetrical advantage”. How he was *completely* fucked this time. The worst part: she believed him this time. Big Worm had become a monster while Jimmy had shrunken to .. Whatever he was, now. She pulled up to Halfway Mouse. 
Halfway Mouse was a rickety dive bar named after an inside joke in a fit of manic psychosis by the owner, who inherited the land along with his dysfunction. The inside was a typical L.A. outskirts dive bar full of regulars, their shadows and liabilities and mean-spirited remnants of hopes and dreams.

Big Worm was a regular, but he had accomplished his hopes and dreams. A shitcoin millionaire who grew his wealth every night outsmarting the dumbest and smartest hustlers and thieves in all of L.A.