http://www.votemayor.com/?p=269Elected Command: Dive for the dinged bat.Purely on impulse, Sammy dives for the dinged bat. Harshly smacking down onto the charred floor, he deftly clasps the club’s taped handle. Defensively retaliating, the lurching soldier pins Sammy’s wrist down with his smudged leather shoe.
Pressure mounting, Sammy can’t help but rubberneck the deteriorating ceiling. A flurry of combusted paneling clatters downward, as the bewildered soldier tightly grits his teeth, angling to strike.
“Go!” shouts Sammy. The Cosa Nostra member freezes, an impression of curious confusion wiping over his face.
“Get outta here, before this joint ends us both!” pleads Sammy, vocal cords straining, rogue flame catching his suit jacket. Pressure lifting, the soldier remains motionless.
“Go tell The Family that Uncle Gonzo lives! Craven used us!“ spouts Sammy. Illustrating quizzical mercy, the uncertain soldier shifts from off the slim wrist, allowing Sammy to urgently toss aside his jacket, now partially lit aflame.
With no further words or glances shared between, the two Mafioso brothers sprint toward the entrance, only to violently bang into the thick swinging doors.
“Blocked! From the outside! Drat, drat, dratty drat drat!” chokes Sammy, frantically pacing about. A firm grip sinks into his shoulder blade, ear forcefully drawn to the stoic soldier’s bloodied lips.
“Trrrait…Ooor.” croaks the soldier, before grappling Sammy from off the ground. Inherently turning limp, Sammy is furiously ejected out of Bar Nun’s patchwork street window, as its tattered roofing collapses completely.
Hitting the wet outside pavement, Sammy painfully rolls flat onto his back. Fully ignoring the broken shards of thin pane glass digging into his elbow, he morosely arises to watch his favorite bar stool, along with his favorite bar, in his favorite town, shrivels into nothing more than a chaotic wreckage of indescribable cinder.
Sister Mister’s battered Punky Princess motoscooter lay propped against the entrance doors.
Sammy watches, as that’s what he does best in life. He watches alone, as the morning sun dimly rises. He watches, planning.
Planning… For an election.