This was the dark that made you wonder if you would ever see daylight again. The dew covered everything like flat soda, and the fog hung low and thick. Anyway, I says to Rick, I says "We're in it to win it, brother." Rick just nodded. He knew the score; it was time to play ball.
The weight of the weapon was unexpected. The steel, wet with dew, seemed like a magnet drawn to the Earth. I says to Rick "man, this thing is like a freakin' magnet." Rick says "Well, technically, it is." Rick is wicked smart. Anyway, I turned to face the night, soaking in the darkness before descending the porch steps behind Rick. "Rick, brother, slow down, I can't even see you," I says, and Rick goes "Maybe we should hold hands." I was like "Whoa whoa whoa. A) this piece weighs a freakin' ton, I'm usin' both hands over here. And 2) Just don't go there." just nodded. He knew the score; it was time to play ball.
There comes a time in a building's life - a building like this: large, brick and stone, grand windows - where it inhabits a vacuum between functionality, art and decay. Warren's Mill was in that vacuum. At once foreboding and majestic, it's cavernous rooms seemed to offer no shelter from the dark and the cold. In fact, they seemed to amplify them. I says to Rick "Man, Rick - they could totally shoot a horror movie here, or like, a Whitesnake video, right?" Rick just nodded. He knew the score; it was time to play ball.
"There he is," Rick shouted, and I'm still not sure how he saw the man there, huddled in the corner of the far stairwell. I levelled my gun and did my best to aim towards the figure I now saw scrambling up the first flight of stairs. Before I could get off a shot, Rick was on the man, grabbing him by his coat and snapping his neck like a wet tree stump. I says to Rick "Is it there? Did he still have it?" Rick nodded. I booked it over to Rick, thinking, "there better be some left." As I reached the stairwell, Rick stood over the crumpled mess of a homeless man he had created, turned to me, and held out the cup. "I am so glad I brought an extra straw," I says, and I opened the straw, placed it in the receptacle, and drank the last drop of my Mocha Coolatta with a Turbo Shot. "Dude, I should totally work at Dunky's, but I'd get fired, though, right? Ha. Alright, man. Let's go to the batting cages, or somethin'," I says to Rick. Rick just nodded. He knew the score; it was time to play ball.