Out of arguing bar-talk, a voice closes in and twists to demanding. I stand. He is tough. I do not remember volunteering but an involuntary arm muscle stood up and got attention. I get a feeling I’m not suppose to show my weakness, something in past lessons about needing to grow my shorn hair long and lacing up hi-top sneakers to cover my ankles as protection. Yes, that should do it.
As he barked orders I notice the scene is done up in tenebrism, to make the watching a controlled devise of sharp realism revealed from the murk. He lisps off what I needed to do for inspection.
“…leave a bit of food offering to the tharg from the thupper before on your footlocker, hang your uniform thirt upside down from the light chain so it is eethy to get into and put the crucifith in front of the mirror so he can thee the back. Lathly, wear your underwear inside out, and then turn it in when he’th left.”
“Well all of that is okay … accept the displaying the issued crucifix, it’s just not my thing.” I don’t like this show.
“Got a better gore thymbol?”
He goes on downloading the plans of attack at noon. I ask if wont many be injured? He looks impatient, adding that we will hit during lunch break. Then he ignores my obvious question, “We will not, then, be on lunch break?”
This voice make me smile, but like a plastered smirk it begins to feel wicked and hard like a Cheshire grin. The voices fade, as though they were exiting through a tunnel … as if a smile could clear a room.
Hey, you practice Ju-jitsu, don’t you?
Yes, the art of getting an opponent off balance, bringing him down, and
After you put something in motion, sometimes you have to back away.