Like soggy failure of the success lithmus test, sitting at the end of the bar. Three bloody maries at four-fifty a pop. Nevermind the seven-fifty in my front pocket... the tab wouldn't be paid, and for the unknowing barkeep, it simply wouldn't be important. On the news an armed driver of a mid 1970s model, powder blue Olds was on vying for pole position on the Eisenhower Interstate system encircling the city. All I could think was how bloated and mis-shapen those vehicles were... and who was the guy in charge of design that week? News choppers allowing consumers of cable television a real-life bird's eye drama unfold. I requested the bartender to turn down the volume of the impromtu reality show when the helicopter banter from the television grew seemlingly louder. Police and news helicopters encircled the block, casting a heroically large shadow and a larger unearthing sound. Just as the electronic whine and warble of police cars became audible, all went silent for me. Still propped on my barstool, nearest the door, I watched in virtual silence as I faced the impending grill and tires of the vehicle in question jump the curb outside and anihilate the handcrafted wood and glass entryway. Splinters and shards. Hot, heavy metal against my skin... peace- seanrox