It had been an otherwise normal day. I took my lunch at the Squeaky Wheel Diner around the corner from my office: Turkey club sandwich, black coffee, and a slice of apple pie. Leaving the diner, I buttoned my coat up to protect me against the cold as I lit my cigarette.
As I returned to the office, I sensed that something was about to go terribly wrong. I'd seen my fair share of trouble; two years in a muddy trench in western France, a stint in jail after robbing an old woman outside her church, and a series of failed business ventures had left me in dire straits. Finally, I had landed a job as a file clerk at a small architecture firm and was living in a small apartment on the outskirts of Kansas City. Missouri.
Immediately upon taking off my coat, a co-worker raced over to me looking very concerned.
"Hey Pete, a guy was just in here asking about you. Looked weird. Said his name was The Wolf. Said you'd know where to find him."
The Wolf.
So the game is back on, I thought to myself.
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Beautiful...just...beautiful.
ReplyDeleteThe word's flow as smoothly as Kev's bottom.