The Alias soundtrack spins.
BAM!
I’m in the club. I’ve got my shit together. Dancing. Drinking. Meeting all who needs to be known.
Damn!
There’s Sidney Bristow. Holy shiznit, she is the one. She has red hair. She must be in the tidy-trashy-punk-rock-girl mood tonight. She looks determined. I approach.
Crash!
Sidney’s crushing my head on the bar. She’s looking for The Circumference. I tell her, “I’m all the math you’ll ever need.”
Dash! Reverse smash!
She’s unimpressed. I’m on the floor. Why does my nose hurt. Is it still attached? Something warm and wet trickles down my brow. I touch and look… is that blood?
The room spins and darkness follows.
staccato fictionist groonk
