http://www.votemayor.com/?p=304Elected Command: Accept.“Oi, I’d ‘elp by any availabatin’ means, sir!” proclaims Titus, self-important grin creeping over his coal smattered face. “Miss Sis always treat’d me right’ I’d wager. Rewardin’ wit’ fresh frogurt ‘n the like.”
“Hop off, spud.” requests Sammy, an authoritative tone advancing over his otherwise relaxed demeanor. Titus complies, carefully sliding off and rebalancing himself onto the alleyway’s worn cobble brick. Slick dew resides where the morning sun has yet to invade.
As if by routine, Sammy flicks up an inexplicable latch, flipping open a rectangular compartment underneath the motoscooter’s flat seat cushion. A dull pair of scooter goggles resides within.
“Gone.” spits Sammy.
“Oi sir, what’d be gone? And what we savin’ Miss Sis from, pray tell like?” questions Titus.
Ignoring the quizzical youth, Sammy wraps the scooter goggles around his inviting forehead. They carry an aroma of fine bourbon and unprocessed frogurt.
“Tell me ‘bout dat cape.” further requests Sammy, kneeling down to thoroughly investigate the cobble brick. Titus huffs, punting a metal scrap against the crumbled kitchen doorway.
“Long ‘n slender like. Real fancy like. Cover’d me customer from ‘ead ta toe. ‘ad a silver, uh, uh uhhh-“ stammers Titus, brows slanting confusedly.
“Trim.” finishes Sammy. Titus sluggishly snaps his pint-size fingers in confirmation. Rising to his feet, Sammy studies a warm gob of translucent slime picked from the alleyway ground. “If you see anyone wearing those capes, you stay far away. Gots it?”
“Awwww, right you are sir. That some frogurt, sir?” asks Titus, licking his dried lips.
“Even better.” whispers Sammy, more to himself than to Titus. Forcefully closing the compartment lid shut, Sammy seats himself upon the Punky Princess. With two habitual spanks to the battered motoscooter’s rear, the engine kicks to life. Handing the dinged bat to Titus, Sammy motions for the street urchin to climb on. “Where to, kid?”
Taken aback, Titus nervously snaps his neck from side to side, hurriedly contemplating both paths at once. An evident trail of the clear, gelatinous substance patches the upper route. Upon the lower course, an erratic patchwork of homeless migrants, seemingly knocked out cold.
Titus bites his dried lower lip, and points.
Commands: 1. Follow the slimy brick road.
2. Follow the hobo brick road.
3. Back over Bar Nun!
4. Bonk! + Yoink!
Voting ends in 48 hours.
Poll
