09-30-2006, 07:34 PM
It was a warm night when Omar came to the house of 45 Boeing Street. The moon was gibbonous; the streetlights shone though a slight mist. Omar stubbed out his cigerette and pressed the horn.
Omar turned the radio down, and waited for the passanger to appear in his back seat; James left his home, and climbed into the back of the taxi; Omar noticed that the man seemed to be hiding something under his blazer.
"The Ox Hotel?" Asked Omar.
"Yeah, thanks."
The streetlamps cast an orange light into the car; the lines of the road started and stopped rapidly as James looked down at them through the window; Omar checked on him in the mirror; he couldn't tell if the man was ill or just pale.
Rows of houses pasted them by, disppearing at a bridge when garages and fast food resturants replaced them; the little red counter under the mirror began to climb; 3.10. 3.20.
The London cab turned into a bus lane, stripping past white transit vans dyed orange by cruel lighting; over the second bridge into the centre of town. Omar's attentions slowly rounded themselves on his passanger. He seemed to be getting more exitable, looking 'round in all directions. "So, you're going to the Ox? Isn't the mayor's party there tonight?"
"Yeah, actually."
"So, what are you, a council member?"
"School governer." James lied.
"Ah." he sat in silence; he conceeded defeat as to what was under the governer's blazer as he turned onto the street, the Ox looming up beside them. The mayor was there in red robes, black hat, gold chain adorning his neck, various council members greeting him: it seemed that he'd just arrived.
"Thanks, mate, just here'll do."
"Sure." Omar read the red counter. "That'll be six pounds sixty."
"Here you go. Thanks, mate." James thrust a collection of coins and a fiver into the driver's hand and got out.
Omar counted the change, as it contained an amount of copper, but he found himself watching the man from the corner of his eye.
James took the bomb from under his blazer, and threw it at the MP for Churchlay Green, drenching her. She grinned, and pulled a water pistol from her own blazer pocket.
"I knew you'd do this James! I'll get you!" she laughed as she pursued him down the road, leaving her bemused workmates and the mayor behind her.
My challange is to write about a street proformer who encounters a black suited man.
Omar turned the radio down, and waited for the passanger to appear in his back seat; James left his home, and climbed into the back of the taxi; Omar noticed that the man seemed to be hiding something under his blazer.
"The Ox Hotel?" Asked Omar.
"Yeah, thanks."
The streetlamps cast an orange light into the car; the lines of the road started and stopped rapidly as James looked down at them through the window; Omar checked on him in the mirror; he couldn't tell if the man was ill or just pale.
Rows of houses pasted them by, disppearing at a bridge when garages and fast food resturants replaced them; the little red counter under the mirror began to climb; 3.10. 3.20.
The London cab turned into a bus lane, stripping past white transit vans dyed orange by cruel lighting; over the second bridge into the centre of town. Omar's attentions slowly rounded themselves on his passanger. He seemed to be getting more exitable, looking 'round in all directions. "So, you're going to the Ox? Isn't the mayor's party there tonight?"
"Yeah, actually."
"So, what are you, a council member?"
"School governer." James lied.
"Ah." he sat in silence; he conceeded defeat as to what was under the governer's blazer as he turned onto the street, the Ox looming up beside them. The mayor was there in red robes, black hat, gold chain adorning his neck, various council members greeting him: it seemed that he'd just arrived.
"Thanks, mate, just here'll do."
"Sure." Omar read the red counter. "That'll be six pounds sixty."
"Here you go. Thanks, mate." James thrust a collection of coins and a fiver into the driver's hand and got out.
Omar counted the change, as it contained an amount of copper, but he found himself watching the man from the corner of his eye.
James took the bomb from under his blazer, and threw it at the MP for Churchlay Green, drenching her. She grinned, and pulled a water pistol from her own blazer pocket.
"I knew you'd do this James! I'll get you!" she laughed as she pursued him down the road, leaving her bemused workmates and the mayor behind her.
My challange is to write about a street proformer who encounters a black suited man.