This morning even before my steel gray eyelids snapped open, my blazing hands had already instinctively slapped thigh, shucked iron, and were in the process of obliterating the fish tank on the far wall. A sharp head snap sent pillow (a pair of shear stockings filled with empty Pabst Blue Ribbon cans) flying backwards, in case an assailant was charging from behind. Legs scissored then flung blanket into air for distractive cover. Two tuck rolls. Exploratory shot through window. Toe clench on bowie knife handle, kick ball change and knife whips into bathroom, slicing through shower curtain. Three preemptive rounds fired in direction of closet, two into recently vacated bed and two shots fired directly overhead for no particular reason.
Time elapsed: 1 point 9 seconds. It was probably quite a sight to behold. But if it impressed Kid Relish, my relatively trusty sidekick who was lounging in the doorway, he didn't show it.
The First Rule Of (Children’s) Fight Club…
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