Post by Jaretho on Apr 16, 2010 14:00:22 GMT -5
"Alright Mac, hand it over." came the awaited phrase, greased with sinister ire.
The blade pressed yet again into Mr. Thompson's ribs as he heard this demand. Instantly a sweat began to form from thoughts of dying, here, now. It was a strange reaction, sweat. When stricken with fear you're very seldom hot, feeling instead an overwhelming coldness which drags you down like an icy leopard seal into the cool cool depths of despair. Yet Mr. Thompson reacted vigorously, to the point where he believed his body was hoping to slick to the point where Mr. Thompson could slip away to safety.
Not on his life. Especially when that was what was at stake.
"Come on, I don't have all day!" he heard the shout again, it held exasperation and an ironic little bit of fear. It seems we're all afraid in situations like this, so many things can go wrong, though it's no better if they go right.
That fear gave Mr. Thompson a strange feeling of elation, a rising to that seldom tread and forever dreaded peak that is occasion. He felt a power well inside him that was beyond heroism and all feelings of soulful goodness. He held within him the most powerful and most changing force in all of human history.
Absolute insanity. Though some might later bilk, genius.
"Hey hey hey...I got your money." Mr. Thompson said at last, reaching slowly into his pocket and feeling about for the engorged monetary carrier.
With each of Mr. Thompson's pricks and tugs of his fingers which moved so vivaciously like the wielder of a thousand marionettes, the knife wielding man's mouth salivated. There are a great deal of hungers that money can satisfy and to see the large pouch emerge from its den and approach, oh so willingly the man, made him nearly leap for joy. He came to his senses though and tensed himself to the proper levels of criminal paranoia...or perhaps he wasn't there yet.
"Alright, hand it over."
Mr. Thompson looked to the man suddenly, his blade wielding captor who lured him into the
shadows with such tempting imagery of charity, generosity, and pan-handler's charm. He centered his lip in an expression of perplexity that was more monotonic than the message delivered from it.
"Can I keep my driver's license?"
"Ah..wha-" the man began, but he was shushed by the sudden sensibility of Mr. Thompson's explanatory oratory.
"Well you see sir, I don't think you can use it for any monetary gain whatsoever, and it would be such a terrible inconvenience for me to replace it."
The man thought about that for a moment, then Mr. Thompson's choice of words a bit longer. sir...really? he thought to himself in tensed and sensitive wondering.
"Yeah...makes sense." the man said with reluctant logic.
Mr. Thompson plucked the identification from his still enlarged wallet and placed it gingerly into his pocket. When this was done he said,
"Ummm my credit cards?"
"What about em?" the man snapped, he saw the reasoning in the license but the credit cards were certainly of value.
"Well, while they would be of some limited purchasing power, I'll promptly cancel the cards and immediately make them useless to you and it would inconvenience me greatly to fill out the endless forms. Not to mention, they can use the cards to track your whereabouts."
This last tidbit, coupled with the earlier logic caused a sense of uplifting gravity as the man nodded quickly to this sensible request. Shimmering plastic was produced from the still substantial wallet and Mr. Thompson was on the verge of parting with it, his fingers delicately detaching themselves like seeds upon a dandelion lightly brushed by a child's breath. Then it came, the next bout of logic,
"Can I keep my coupons?"
The man didn't begin to utter a confused stammer, he was in such a stupor of abominable reality that it hardly seemed appropriate.
"Sure sure...they're just coupons."
With that, Mr.Thompson smiled and reached into the billfold. It was as if his hand had become a liposuction machine as the fat of the wallet was instantly sucked away leaving a husk in its wake, a cocoon, which held such potential for beauty, now discarded. After removing the large collection of finely snipped clippings Mr. Thompson placed these in his pocket and lifted his wallet yet again.
The man leaned in now, determined to take the wallet for himself before it got ever lighter. Just before his twitching fingers could grasp the leathery fabric, Mr Thompson said,
"Can I please have fifty cents?"
It was a strange request and set the man back on his heels for a moment, until he thought of an appropriate inquiry,
"Why?"
Mr. Thompson's shoulders sagged a tad, as if he didn't expect the question, but after a moment he said simply,
"I need to ride the bus home."
The man felt a pang in his chest, it certainly wasn't dreaded sympathy...that would be bad for business and clearly unprofessional. Still Mr. Thompson had a fine point and so begrudgingly the man tossed him a couple of quarters which clinked like celebratory wine glasses into the less than festive hands of Mr. Thompson.
With that business concluded the man was about to be off when Mr. Thompsons squeaked yet again,
"Might I have my wallet?"
"WHAT?!" the man cried, not only was this confusing to him, it was entirely counter intuitive to what he was trying to accomplish.
Mr. Thompson promptly explained himself,
"You're very welcome to keep the money within, but I'm afraid that my coupons will jumble out of order in an unprotected pocket and my quarters may slip through a sneaky hole in my trousers which would greatly inconvenience me."
Oh the sensibility the man moaned in his mind at Mr. Thompson's explanation and after thinking such, produced the money from the tattered and well worn wallet and gave it back to the ever grateful Mr. Thompson.
"Oh thank you very much sir."
With that Mr. Thompson scurried off, working his way past the man's knife with no difficulty. After a few blinking moments the man looked down at his loot.
"NOW WAIT JUST A MINUTE!"
Mr. Thompson turned back, quite surprised as he saw the drifting bills in amisdt the petulant airs of the windless alley, from there he saw the grumbling man curse wildly as he trudged deeper into the cities underbelly.
Slowly Mr. Thompson collected his bills, dusting each proud Washington promptly. as he stared at this fine man in a set of three, he looked up to the still cursing man and said softly,
"Sorry to inconvenience you."
The blade pressed yet again into Mr. Thompson's ribs as he heard this demand. Instantly a sweat began to form from thoughts of dying, here, now. It was a strange reaction, sweat. When stricken with fear you're very seldom hot, feeling instead an overwhelming coldness which drags you down like an icy leopard seal into the cool cool depths of despair. Yet Mr. Thompson reacted vigorously, to the point where he believed his body was hoping to slick to the point where Mr. Thompson could slip away to safety.
Not on his life. Especially when that was what was at stake.
"Come on, I don't have all day!" he heard the shout again, it held exasperation and an ironic little bit of fear. It seems we're all afraid in situations like this, so many things can go wrong, though it's no better if they go right.
That fear gave Mr. Thompson a strange feeling of elation, a rising to that seldom tread and forever dreaded peak that is occasion. He felt a power well inside him that was beyond heroism and all feelings of soulful goodness. He held within him the most powerful and most changing force in all of human history.
Absolute insanity. Though some might later bilk, genius.
"Hey hey hey...I got your money." Mr. Thompson said at last, reaching slowly into his pocket and feeling about for the engorged monetary carrier.
With each of Mr. Thompson's pricks and tugs of his fingers which moved so vivaciously like the wielder of a thousand marionettes, the knife wielding man's mouth salivated. There are a great deal of hungers that money can satisfy and to see the large pouch emerge from its den and approach, oh so willingly the man, made him nearly leap for joy. He came to his senses though and tensed himself to the proper levels of criminal paranoia...or perhaps he wasn't there yet.
"Alright, hand it over."
Mr. Thompson looked to the man suddenly, his blade wielding captor who lured him into the
shadows with such tempting imagery of charity, generosity, and pan-handler's charm. He centered his lip in an expression of perplexity that was more monotonic than the message delivered from it."Can I keep my driver's license?"
"Ah..wha-" the man began, but he was shushed by the sudden sensibility of Mr. Thompson's explanatory oratory.
"Well you see sir, I don't think you can use it for any monetary gain whatsoever, and it would be such a terrible inconvenience for me to replace it."
The man thought about that for a moment, then Mr. Thompson's choice of words a bit longer. sir...really? he thought to himself in tensed and sensitive wondering.
"Yeah...makes sense." the man said with reluctant logic.
Mr. Thompson plucked the identification from his still enlarged wallet and placed it gingerly into his pocket. When this was done he said,
"Ummm my credit cards?"
"What about em?" the man snapped, he saw the reasoning in the license but the credit cards were certainly of value.
"Well, while they would be of some limited purchasing power, I'll promptly cancel the cards and immediately make them useless to you and it would inconvenience me greatly to fill out the endless forms. Not to mention, they can use the cards to track your whereabouts."
This last tidbit, coupled with the earlier logic caused a sense of uplifting gravity as the man nodded quickly to this sensible request. Shimmering plastic was produced from the still substantial wallet and Mr. Thompson was on the verge of parting with it, his fingers delicately detaching themselves like seeds upon a dandelion lightly brushed by a child's breath. Then it came, the next bout of logic,
"Can I keep my coupons?"
The man didn't begin to utter a confused stammer, he was in such a stupor of abominable reality that it hardly seemed appropriate.
"Sure sure...they're just coupons."
With that, Mr.Thompson smiled and reached into the billfold. It was as if his hand had become a liposuction machine as the fat of the wallet was instantly sucked away leaving a husk in its wake, a cocoon, which held such potential for beauty, now discarded. After removing the large collection of finely snipped clippings Mr. Thompson placed these in his pocket and lifted his wallet yet again.
The man leaned in now, determined to take the wallet for himself before it got ever lighter. Just before his twitching fingers could grasp the leathery fabric, Mr Thompson said,
"Can I please have fifty cents?"
It was a strange request and set the man back on his heels for a moment, until he thought of an appropriate inquiry,
"Why?"
Mr. Thompson's shoulders sagged a tad, as if he didn't expect the question, but after a moment he said simply,
"I need to ride the bus home."
The man felt a pang in his chest, it certainly wasn't dreaded sympathy...that would be bad for business and clearly unprofessional. Still Mr. Thompson had a fine point and so begrudgingly the man tossed him a couple of quarters which clinked like celebratory wine glasses into the less than festive hands of Mr. Thompson.
With that business concluded the man was about to be off when Mr. Thompsons squeaked yet again,
"Might I have my wallet?"
"WHAT?!" the man cried, not only was this confusing to him, it was entirely counter intuitive to what he was trying to accomplish.
Mr. Thompson promptly explained himself,
"You're very welcome to keep the money within, but I'm afraid that my coupons will jumble out of order in an unprotected pocket and my quarters may slip through a sneaky hole in my trousers which would greatly inconvenience me."
Oh the sensibility the man moaned in his mind at Mr. Thompson's explanation and after thinking such, produced the money from the tattered and well worn wallet and gave it back to the ever grateful Mr. Thompson.
"Oh thank you very much sir."
With that Mr. Thompson scurried off, working his way past the man's knife with no difficulty. After a few blinking moments the man looked down at his loot.
"NOW WAIT JUST A MINUTE!"
Mr. Thompson turned back, quite surprised as he saw the drifting bills in amisdt the petulant airs of the windless alley, from there he saw the grumbling man curse wildly as he trudged deeper into the cities underbelly.
Slowly Mr. Thompson collected his bills, dusting each proud Washington promptly. as he stared at this fine man in a set of three, he looked up to the still cursing man and said softly,
"Sorry to inconvenience you."
' Bloody heck, two jobs and a BUNCH of kerfuffle later, and I'm back AGAIN.