Running from some fighters-they’re fast, trying to get to a place. Hide, zig-zag, 1 then 2 catch up. We hide in popcorn. They come up, act nice, take their knives, try to sweet talk them.
By a freeway that’s fenced in-cross the fence. Go around, start flying. Come back. Some boy wants sex. We talk about it. Go back across with bread. We’re chased and go across the fence on the other side. Some cops come and track us down, offer me to write the disk I/O for Windows. On spec, no code.
My exciting life, this place