Monday, August 11, 2008
Brandon had no real hope of catching the flying man of Westminster Boulevard. He'd all but stopped running five blocks ago. Nonetheless something continued to spur him on. Perhaps it was the inate male desire to save face. To do so he needed two things: a taxi and a heat-seeking rocket launcher. Brandon mentally scanned his iphone contact list trying to remember if he had any terrorists friends whom he could text. He patted himself down. No phone, no taxi in sight, his immediate revenge would have to wait until could think of a slightly more realistic alternative. For now he'd run, five years and fourty pounds ago that may have been a good idea, right now it's the best his mind could come up with, his body however had other plans.