Ag building

“The stylistically viscerally impact of an AAA experience.”

On an E-Machine. Korean.

“Is less,” I concluded, “then the cumulative percussive effect when left unchallenged and set in demo mode within an urban environment.”

“THX, or something.”

“5.1! Also, narrating aloud.”

“Secure external dialogue,” I swung an arm in an attempt around Former Navy SEAL Benjamin Smith, couldn’t get past the tac-sling, “I cannot self terminate.”

His penetrated cork board and holed hooks in a wall for hardware and tools to be displayed.

“I’ve always loved you.”

I am unafraid of quoting Nazis from “The Blues Brothers.” (1980) Hopefully, Operators we will meet again as the beginning of aforementioned film.


“Armor,” he declared, leaping into the Jeep’s driver’s side seat, no docent, “lead, follow or get out of the way.”

“AH-1. On station?”

“Toes here.”

An arm muscled with rolled flat sleeves in MARPAT invaded a museum peice. Ag.

My bubble gum popped. Bubble, and again.

A noise indicated the governor was removed from the vehicle. Then two more, indicating I’d tossed the governer and a shell cartridge casing had been ejected from a firearm and had hit a cold brick wall.


The engine turned over. Caught at once! Into gear, moving.

I settled into the box. Skyhookin’ it for home, or something.

”Benjamin! The windwaker,” I exposed myself.

He was off, checkered scarf to the wind.

Then a second computer was on, endless domonstration of the noir crime-thriller Max Payne. In Demo mode. At volume.9667F31D-C2EA-4A7A-A6B4-330239E95E37.jpeg


“Some men. Some men are hard to kill.”

Smith, really grinding the damn thing.

“Some have a death wish.

He dropped gear before an incline, the Doppler effect of an Abraham’s doing about opposite to my six and at full-tilt-jet was pleasing juxtaposed to his gears meeting, then heads-up.

Shifted once more, then over the sight line, popping my status into doubleoh sixth.