LOS ANGELES
YEAR UNKNOWN
There are no angels at this party.
Middle of the day, big beautiful backyard, indoor outdoor million dollar house in the hills, the place is packed.
It looks like a scene out of Where's Waldo (Where is He anyways?).
Colors, lots of them. So many different outfits and occupations. Every flavor of liar.
Carnival, circus, costume party. But it's not. It's just a Goodtime.
Everyone is enjoying themselves. Everyone but you.
You're scanning the crowd. Sunglasses on.
You see a baseball player pacing back and forth, hands behind his head, twirling a bat round and round. CRACK!
There goes someone's skull. They're laying on the ground in a pool of blood.
How does NO ONE NOTICE? That man needs an ambulance. That man is going to die.
You're tending to him. The blood is on your hands. Everyone turns to the scene.
Spotlight. Now you're the life of the party. Think fast.
Run to the front. Steal a car. White 'Vette—NICE CHOICE!
Now you're on the news. Helicopter wide shot (You look good on TV don't worry).
110. 120. 140. New shoes, the soles are heavy.
You wipe the blood on your uniform and lick the rest. You throw the bat out the window. This is fun. You needed this.
One man's dream is the same man's nightmare.