What work makes me daydream about...

Driving along nighttime Carolina, on my way to a friend's house, just looking around at the cars, the "cacos" with their loud music, and the prostitutes in the corners, awaiting the cold cash that will get them their fix.

Red light, so I stop at the intersection. Out of nowhere, a bang on my window, shattering it inward. The glass shards scratch at my face, some of them I can feel embedded in my skin. Suddenly, a jerk by the scruff of the neck, and an insistent tug to pull me out. I stretch my hand to the side, looking to grab anything, when I feel the rough canvas of the sword sheath i have in the car. I bought this in a comic convention a few days ago, not planning on using it, but, oh well, it's all I have on hand at the moment.

I give in to the pulling, and the guy brings me out of the car through the window. I land solid on the pavement, other cars around, yet no one moves a muscle. Here in Puerto Rico, at nighttime, in this corner of the island, no one gives a fuck.

As soon as he turns me around, I'm ready for him. I pull out the sword from the sheath and stick it in his chest, going in deep. His lifeblood leaks through the wound, and he just looks aghast at the blade in my hands. This gives me the time needed to pull out the other, shorter blade from the scabbard, and stand. He now looks at me, enraged. In the same motion I pull the sword free from his chest, spin with the momentum, and slice his neck clean with the short blade.

In that spin I catch a glimpse of 3 more thugs, 2 goth-looking girls with them. Not bad looking, mind you, but under the circumstances, and with the bats and bottles in their hands, I can't really stand there and oogle at them.

I jump over the hood of my car and run to a nearby alley, crossing 3 lanes of traffic, and barely missing a car that was speeding by.