JACKER'S REVENGE

Race took a large gulp of his Beck's, and stared blankly at his reflection behind the liquor bottles, against the back of the bar. Lately, he hadn't been able to sleep much. This enormous sense of dread seemed to occupy his mind on a nightly basis, and rather than take some sort of sleep aid, he just stared at the ceiling. Night after night. Today was a day off, and he had tried to catch up on rest.... but couldn't. So, instead he took a trip over to the local watering hole, to try to quiet the thoughts in his head with beer.

The bar was mostly empty, it was mid-day on a Sunday. The usual drunks could be seen, watching the playoff football game on the screen, or playing with the video betting game on the bar corner. Race tried to not bring too much attention to himself, and just stared blankly in front of him. He reached for his phone. 12:06. "Did people get out of church now?", he thought... Smirking at how far removed church was in his present life. He drained the last vestiges of the clear honey ale, and set the bottle hard on the counter. The bartender looked at him, gesturing if he wanted another, at which Race shook his head.

Turning off of the bar stool, he made his way to the front door, and prepared himself for the blinding light by searching on his person for his sunglasses. Opening the door, it wasn't as bad as he had expected. A little overcast. He turned the corner, and stopped short. He could see some kid in a hoodie beside his car. This kid was either pretty fucking ballsy, or pretty fucking stupid. Race guessed the latter, as he slowly made his way down the street, bending low behind parked cars, as he checked this punk out. He found a discarded wooden rod on the sidewalk, that could serve well as a weapon. Time to teach this little shit a lesson. Lesson 1: Don't steal Race's car.