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One Way or AnotherOkay. So when "borrowing" a car, maybe you shouldn't pick one that belongs to two guys who are armed. Live and learn.
In my defense, they didn't look like the type that would be packing heat. They looked like the type who would be serving beers and hitting on girls at a Friday night frat favorite in the college town a few miles over.
"... BETTER GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THAT SEAT BEFORE I—"
The wheels spun on damp, moonlit asphalt, squealing loudly enough to drown out the threats coming from the smaller guy. Ah, well. It didn't take much imagination to guess how that sentence was going to end. I chanced a glance in the rearview mirror, and caught a peek of his pal hastily trying to get him to put away the gun he had pulled from the waistband of his jeans. These backroads weren't exactly thriving at this hour, but the convenience stop had enough people milling about that waving some steel around wasn't going to draw any good kind of attention.
"... SON ... OF A..."
Man, he had a
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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