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Country: North America, US, United States
City: San Jose, California
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- Mark S. Johnson - Delicious Despite Darkest DespairIt was a day just like any other day: dark and hopeless. The situation I was in was equally dark and hopeless. The tip I'd received about the Verchetti Gang drug deal had been accurate in concept, if slightly off about the exact numbers of people who would try to kill me.
I was flopped behind a crate, only sitting up because of its wooden sturdiness. The air was filled with the taunts of the half-dozen mobsters as they searched for me. All I had was half a clip in my automatic, a cigarette in my lips and a slug resting somewhere in my gut: things weren't looking good.
I closed my eyes and let my smoke and gun hand sag. The sounds of the footsteps in the empty warehouse were definitely getting closer. I was prepared to accept my death sitting down.
When one of the mobsters tripped over a canned good, the others took a break out of hunting for me to laugh at him. To be killed by a lot such as this. Pathetic. I opened my eyes to roll them.
That was when I noticed the crate I was leaning on: Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz. I smiled grimly. I didn't have to die like a dog, there was another way. I shifted up to squat and gripped the edge of the crate. Ignoring the lances of pain in my gut, I ripped a board out of place.
The voices all hushed and began proceeding at a much quicker pace in my direction. I quickly grabbed a gallon of Tuscan Whole Milk; dropped my gun and cigarette; and peeled off the freshness seal before popping off its red top and downing the liquid into my mouth.
Its effect was immediate. The cool, refreshing taste of the milk washed away my pain and its kosher source of calcium wash away my fear. I grabbed my gun and rose, milk still in my other hand.
I managed to get off three shots before I dropped. Even the milk wasn't enough to keep me going. Sure was good though.