With my hands on the railing, I stare into

With my hands on the railing, I stare into the darkness beyond the veranda, listening intently. But the night rests silently: only mosquitos, flies, a dog barking in the distance.
Somewhere, out there in the darkness beyond my meagre circle of lamp-light, is my assassin. I step back from the veranda, closing the french windows behind me. I make sure to
irrigate, floss, and brush; this may be my last night, but it may not. Assassins are not always successful. I check the bolt lock for the seventh time before opening my Bible to
find a good passage. No such luck with the latter arrives. I sharpen my samurai sword and dart out into the nighttime world. I must find
the man who hired me to avenge his son's death. I search far and wide and finally find the old fogy drinking sake in a nearby sushi house. "Spicy salmon, please," I say and sit
down next to this heavy set, older gentleman. This gentleman gave me the chills. He wore a bowler hat that covered his eyes and a long, dark trench coat. Never before have I see
n such large hands. He was cracking walnuts with his fist. I offered to buy him a drink. He tipped his bowler and gazed at me with his blue glass eye. "Grape Fanta, extra ice."
What choice had I but to comply? "A large Grape Fanta, extra ice, coming right up, uh, sir..." I wasn't quite sure he was a man, despite his massive hands. His nails were magenta.
His bristly hair matched the color of the beverage pouring from the fountain. "Mmmmm...fuel," the quasi--man muttered, rubbing his massive hands together as I put the top on and
put it next to my foot. Suddenly the man grabbed the bottle of fuel and opened it. Before I could even ask what he was doing or tell him to stop he poured it all over himself.

Started: 2015-11-08 04:30:38
Finished: 2015-11-13 12:07:06

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