Second post of new story

That clementine is still on the roof of Brian's trailer...yes. Yes it is. Well, I could go out there and get it, but I'm too lazy. There's a little bit of clementine juice there, and it's all dried up, making the roof have a little white spatter all over it. I really have no clue what to write about... oh wait! The story, right...

January, 16, 2006

Before I go on my journey, I have to go back to my apartment in Toronto to pick up a few things. I stick to the small, country roads, covered in snow, so no one will ask for a ride and delay my long journey back. After driving for eight hours, I'm back at my apartment in Toronto. I jingle my keys, becuase I like the sound, and then go inside and lock the door. I keep turning the keys until I hear the soft click. I check the traps I set around my house. No one got in.

First I stride over to my bedroom, my shoes making no noise on the soft carpet. I look around at my room: a mattress, plopped on the floor, a dresser being used as a desk. Nothing important. I lift up the mattress, findind that farmiliar cut in the carpet. I lift it up and grab my life's savings: $50,000. Then I open up my closet. My big closet. The one without clothes in it. The one full of  guns.

I take an M-16, and two MAC-10s, then I get my desert eagle, along with a SPAS 12 and my Draganuv sniper rifle. I run around trying to find ammunition for all of them. I make a couple of coca-cola bombs since I don't have any grenades, and then get my gun permit. I feel like an action here from a movie. I stop in front of a mirror and hold my guns up and then imagine myself with a cigar. Defiantly an action hero.

I pack all of my regular person stuff and then I walk to the garage to get my Mustang GT. I wouldn't want anyone coming into my taxi and see guns everywhere. So, I walk the short distance there, contemplating how old the black, hard pieces of gum on the sidewalk are. I get inside my Mustang and head off to the nearest airport. Once I get there, I realize a problem. The airport security. And they would get pretty +@&%#^* mad if I walked in there and tried to get on a plane laden with guns, two of them illegal. I decide to go and get my bush-plane, 120 miles away in the country.

Just as I'm leaving the airport, I notice a guy. A guy with a button with a crescent moon with a sword through it. I get out of my car and follow him. He walks inside the airport and checks the giant TV with the flight times, then goes to gate G-12. It's a flight to San Francisco. I run to my blue mustang and drive way past the speed limit. I watch the speedometer on my car go up. 90, 100, 105, 120, 150... I drive and swerve through the small country roads covered in snow-I'm good with cars, too- and drive to the farm where my bush plane is.