Another day, another dollar. Bitches be writhing. I be writing, battling my way through Hell’s Kitchen, blind as a bat, with sensory enhancements coming from the lord and savior himself–my only hope for salvation in this destitute land of trash curbs and massive skyscrapers blasting apart the sky with control rooms full of control freaks.
I got the blades dangling from my exhausted arms.
“I’m growing.” I tell the monster. “Thank you for your training, and the opportunity to either die or grow.”
Goliath on high, The Mountain in the arena, reminds me not to get too showy or confident.
“Okay.” I reply. “I just want to save my family, myself included.”