The door to bar opened.
In walked the HR lady.
She was followed by five burly men.
Star Child Two floated in.
I hopped off the bar.
The bartender put away the machete.
Star Child Two flew down to the HR lady.
He buzzed around her head for a few seconds.
“Got it,” she said and pointed at me. “THAT ONE!”
I tried to escape out the back door, but the guards caught up to me quite quickly and let me have it.
It was VERY violent.
And painful.
It was the slap that almost did me in.
The guards picked me up and dragged me across the floor.
When I passed the couple at the bar, I smiled.
Then I spit out a huge wad of bloody spit mixed with snot and peanut residue.
It landed next to the man’s feet.
“YOUR SHOES! HA! YOUR SHOES!” I yelled as they pulled me from the bar into the parking lot.
The guards dumped me at the feet of the HR lady.
“Well?” I asked as I lay on the ground. “How did I do?”
She jumped as if she was in a Toyota commercial.
“Marvelously!” she exclaimed when she landed on her feet.
I got up and spit some more blood, snot and peanut remnants on the ground.
“Now what do we do?” I asked.
“We wait.” she said.
I followed her to a long black Pinto limousine.
She got in, followed by the five men.
“You smell. You wait outside,” she said and slammed the door shut.
I sat on the ground and waited.
The air smelled like diesel and a wet bear suit.
Soon, the couple left the bar, the little man clutching a six pack of the cheapest beer ever made in his tiny little hands.
“HITCHIKER!” I whispered loudly as I pointed at the couple.
The window to the Pinto limo opened.
“We know!” said the HR lady and then rolled the window shut.
I closed my eyes and took a power nap.
I was awakened to the sound of chain mail.
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