A shadow lurks in an arc-light from around a corner down the block, then darts into vapid air on a misty night as I hustle towards the corner on a security detail at a scrap yard.
Casting my cigarette butt into a warehouse district street drain, I peer around the corner into a lit, side street and see no one.
Hand in my vest pocket gripping a revolver: I pull it out, aim at the arc-light and fire a crack shot.
The arc-light illuminating the side street shatters and sprinkles shards of glass onto the below side street. No vehicles are parked on the street and I pull out a flashlight to illumine sudden darkness.
A black cat squeals wretchedly while running across the street from dumpsters out of view into an abandoned warehouse through a notched fence with "caution" signs posted along chain link.
I trace the black cat's hurried scamper across the street, then its disappearance into a warehouse through a darkened fence notch.
"Nothin'."
I round the corner turning and amble towards the gate light a half block from the corner holstering my revolver and flashlight inside my vest pocket while reaching for a cigarette.
A shimmering pond under a full moon reflects in my eyes looking out of darkness beyond the gate light glare as I am clubbed from behind by a shadow I glimpse, pivoting too late.
An nth of a second passes and my brains ooze onto pavement as my soul leaves my epileptic body into ether with a flash of my former self lying prostrate on the sidewalk in front of the lit, scrap yard gate.
I see nothing else: but stars, outlying green pastures beyond still waters and seventy-two virgins lining a bungalow street paved with gold, presumably heaven.
Fireplaces burn in each of the bungalows where I am martyred to live an afterlife hurtling through space on board my jumbo planet called: "Earth."
Life on my jumbo planet is pleasant with gold embossed sheets, silk pajamas, seventy-two virgins, a billion cars in my garages around the world and replete labor to tend to it all.
I tend to more important matters in this life, such as literati jerk off about lying prostrate on a street in front of a lit gate made of gold with 72 virgins tending to my every carnal need.
Casting my cigarette butt into a warehouse district street drain, I peer around the corner into a lit, side street and see no one.
Hand in my vest pocket gripping a revolver: I pull it out, aim at the arc-light and fire a crack shot.
The arc-light illuminating the side street shatters and sprinkles shards of glass onto the below side street. No vehicles are parked on the street and I pull out a flashlight to illumine sudden darkness.
A black cat squeals wretchedly while running across the street from dumpsters out of view into an abandoned warehouse through a notched fence with "caution" signs posted along chain link.
I trace the black cat's hurried scamper across the street, then its disappearance into a warehouse through a darkened fence notch.
"Nothin'."
I round the corner turning and amble towards the gate light a half block from the corner holstering my revolver and flashlight inside my vest pocket while reaching for a cigarette.
A shimmering pond under a full moon reflects in my eyes looking out of darkness beyond the gate light glare as I am clubbed from behind by a shadow I glimpse, pivoting too late.
An nth of a second passes and my brains ooze onto pavement as my soul leaves my epileptic body into ether with a flash of my former self lying prostrate on the sidewalk in front of the lit, scrap yard gate.
I see nothing else: but stars, outlying green pastures beyond still waters and seventy-two virgins lining a bungalow street paved with gold, presumably heaven.
Fireplaces burn in each of the bungalows where I am martyred to live an afterlife hurtling through space on board my jumbo planet called: "Earth."
Life on my jumbo planet is pleasant with gold embossed sheets, silk pajamas, seventy-two virgins, a billion cars in my garages around the world and replete labor to tend to it all.
I tend to more important matters in this life, such as literati jerk off about lying prostrate on a street in front of a lit gate made of gold with 72 virgins tending to my every carnal need.
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