He goes for a jog each day, sometimes in the morning and
sometimes at night. But he doesn’t use a trail in the park like a normal person.
No, he has to do it extreme sports style. He jogs across rooftops, leaping from
building to building. I couldn’t have asked for a better setting if I had planned
it myself. His four-eyed friend usually jogs on the sidewalk below, but for
some reason isn’t tonight. I wonder why.
He leaps from ledge to roof effortlessly with a smile of
pure euphoria filling his face. He really enjoys this, doesn’t he? But I can
see the quick glances he takes around, the straining of his ears in every
direction. He knows something’s up, and he’s ready for it. No reason to keep
him waiting.
The Cuscuses descend from three sides when he is in midair
and has no way of dodging them. He tries his best to block all three attacks,
but two of them hit him pretty hard. He crashes against the brick chimney so
hard it cracks. They don’t give him any chance to recover delivering a series
of kicks, punches, and elbow jabs to every part of his body. I see the smug
looks on their faces and shake my head. “Don’t get sloppy,” I whisper, but it’s
too late. He kicks one of them across the street. The other two intensify their
barrage of punches, but he somehow slips past them and is off the rooftop and
onto a ledge across the street.
No comments:
Post a Comment