you spot your prey
You gaze from seat to seat, from lane to lane, and then you see him.
I.m. Slye. The one and only. Far, far off alone in the corner
twiddling his thumbs like a spoiled child punished and forced into a
corner of dispair. You begin to make your way towards him.
You push through crowds of smoking woman, crying babies, crazy old
men, and ruthless wild teenagers, until you have him in your sight yet
once again. Your are so close to him that you can imagine yourself
slapping the handcuffs onto his hands and courting him off to the
local penetentary. As your make your last and final step towards him,
and.....
