As I crawled from the burning wreckage, blood flowing down my face in small rivers, I began to piece together the events that had led me to this dismal state. Everything happened exactly as I was warned it would - that in the end, love would become the cold, unflinching agent of death and destruction. But then, I guess that's to be expected when you gamble on gerbil races against Three-Fingered Louie and No-Nose Frankie.
Listening to my twin-engine Cessna sliding down the muddy riverbank to the destruction that awaits us all, I cast my mind to better things. I'll never forget the day I first met Anna. It was a quiet and sunny day; a fine day for meeting a gal like her. She was sitting on a wooden bench, reading some self-help book, the kind they advertise in the last pages of life-style magazines. As I came closer to her, I was shocked to discover that she had a simple black eyepatch over her left eye, putting off a shallow air of hostility. I don't think she noticed me at first because, I can, at times, convey a certain air of invisibility. The park was deserted at the time, save for an elderly couple strolling by, and as they passed, I wondered if we would be able to stay so close until the end. But that's me - always jumping the gun; after all I had just met her. In retrospect, I shouldn't have expressed my extreme desire for her in the first 15 minutes of conversation. I was never one to have any patience or understanding of the social norm.
Flinching as I remember the hiss of her pepper spray, I am startled from my revelry, awash in the steam from the burning husk of the Cessna dousing itself in the murky, frigid waters. Jumping the gun. Yes. Just like I'd done a mile and a half above this god-forsaken drainage ditch in the middle of nowhere. But if I had only known how things would eventually work out for me I never would have agreed take part in her little scheme. Oh how I regret it now. Looking down the slope, I see my car. Most of the flames are out, and it settled to a stopping point. With a sigh, I crawl down the muddy hill and climb into the twisted memory of my vehicle. I casually look over my right shoulder and notice that I still have a some beers on ice in the back cooler. Not everything is bad. Let me reach for one as I tell my tale.
Actually, I already started telling you my tale, but let me go on. Anna was a gallant lady, from the first moment I set eyes on her, and she set that one eye on me and sprayed me with that forsaken pepper spray.
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Spinach in Need is Spinach Indeed
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