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likesomekindofcheese · 5 years

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A Night At The Opera (Part 2) (Revised)

Pairing: Brian May x fem! singer! reader

Word Count: 3,000

Content: Fluff, fluff, fluff!! Mentions of sex, Reader is shy and soft, Freddie being a wingman/third-wheel, swearing, not the world’s best grammar, and delicious slow burn and romantic tension.

Part two (possibly of three?? Four?? Ten?? Who knows! Continuing from part one, You and Brian meet when he goes to your university production of the opera Gianni Schicchi and you are both immediately...interested in one another. But Brian’s nervous about approaching you since he’s so in love, he’s gonna need Freddie’s help...

Note, I am American as they come and I know a lot of people in the Queen fandom are British, so if any word choice or fact or anything in the fic seems inaccurate, let me know immediately. I hope you enjoy part two and any feedback is appreciated!!! Also Enjoy the moodboard (the first I’ve made in a WHILE) to go with it!

(Bri)

“Who is she, darling?”

“What?” Brian almost dropped the phone to the floor. He was tempted to slam it shut and end the conversation right there. But he stayed.

“Your date! Don’t lie to me. I know Mary would go, but she’s sick as a dog right now, poor dear.” he heard a slight puff on the other end of a cigarette being blown out.

Brian thought getting Freddie to go to the opera would be an easy task. So far, he was convinced nothing would be blown over.

“I…I don’t have a date, Freddie” Brian swallowed. If Fred knew that a girl was involved right from the get-go, then there was no turning back.

“She’s a performer. I know her. I spoke with her, a little. You’d like her, Fred.” Brian said. He heaved a sigh of relief.

“But Brian, rent is coming up…” he heard Fred sigh.

“Don’t worry! I’ll cover your ticket!” he insisted. There was a little pause on the line. He heard a little laugh from Fred.

“R-really! A free opera, well, then…then…oh, thank you Brian! We’ll leave as soon as we can I…I can even lend you some of my nicer suits!”

The thought of turning up in one of Fred’s bright, spangly jackets made Brian turn red. “Oh, no Fred! It’s not fucking Covet Garden, it’s just a…a university production! No need to be… be too much. I just want her to like me, not run away in fear.”

“Alright, I’ll go. Meet me at that flower shop an hour before rehearsal, too. So help me, tonight will end in the two of you exchanging numbers and having the shag of the decade…”

“Fred, you dickhead!” Brian yelled.

“Besides, I stole Mary from you, might as well return the favor! I’ll be over at your place in an hour” He heard the laugh before they exchanged goodbyes and hung up.

(You)

You awaken with the sunlight dripping out the window. You felt grateful for a morning to sleep in and not have to rush anywhere. The fullness of deep sleep after a week of deprivation washed over, bursting. You were expected nowhere. And there was nothing to be done. Except perform later tonight, but that was hours away.

You looked at the daises from last night in their clear blue jug, sitting right over your face on the desk next to your bed. The room seemed to smell cleaner and look brighter with them. It wasn’t equal to seeing and hearing the admiration of one’s friends and relatives from the work of a night, but it was still nice. It almost seemed like little faces smiling at you, whispering “yes, you can do this!”

It was almost as nice a smile as that smile Brian gave you. You feel as if lightning has hit your body when you think of him. If only you hadn’t been so awkward last night.

Your life now pursuing music at university prevented me from crossing paths with young, single men. There was a share of men who liked girls, but the opera department had many older men who were married with children. That is, married or taken. Taken by girls with tinier waists, girls who woke up earlier to sweep makeup on their clear, flawless skin, girls who worked out daily, girls with longer, impressive resumes, girls who rarely were in the ensemble of the show, girls who were outgoing, bold, and fearless, girls who got first place and could sing out high F’s and melisma’s filling a football stadium as easily as breathing. Girls nothing like you.

That’s probably the kind of girl Brian is seeing right now…

(Bri)

Freddie opened the glass door inside the shop, releasing some of the cold air and chilling the room. He whipped out a batch of a dozen red roses.

“Get her these.” He stated, like a teacher ordering a student.

“No Fred! That’s too forward!” Brian stepped forth and put back the dozens of roses as if it was a loaded gun.

Besides, what if she had a boyfriend? That is, if she was into boys at all. Maybe a muscular, straight haired, clean nailed boyfriend would come over tonight and give her that exact bunch of roses. He walked over to the yellow carnations sitting a foot away on a short table.

“How about these? These are nice…” Brian said. The pot was so small, his hands covered it.

“What are you, her auntie!?” Fred spat.

“I…I just want to make a good impression” Brian sighed. He set the pot down gently.

“C’mon Bri, you’re not talking to Montserrat fucking Caballe!”

“Who?”

“Never mind, Bri, you’re not normally this pathetic with girls!” Freddie hissed. He grabbed Brian’s arm, and walked him out to the afternoon sun outside.

“I’m not, it��s just…it’s just, she’s different. i don’t want to do something stupid because...I’m afraid I’ll...repulse her or something” Brian confessed.

Freddie gleamed with mischief and he held back a wider smile. “There was one girl you knew for, what, three years, three years Bri…”

Brian backed up a little. “Fred, please…”

“And not once did you even speak to her! And guess what! By then she was taken! I thought you knew better! And you wrote a pretty song about it, but there’s only so much a pretty song’ll do” Fred scolded. He put a hand to his hips. “You’ve had plenty of girlfriends since then and you’re definitely not a monk when it comes to…

“Fred, shut it!” Brian begs. He looks around. No one walking by seems interested in the conversation.

Brian looked down at the peonies in through the window of another flower shop across the street. “I…I know her name…and, we have talked, some. So, it’s not like I’ve been pining from afar like I was that time.”

“Good, now let’s take the next step then…”

(You)

When at the end of the opera, you let yourself finally look out into the faces of the audience after you take your bow. And there is only once face in the crowd you know.

It’s Brian’s. He came back. Brian was back. And he was smiling and applauding. …And there was someone else with him. Another young man with shiny dark hair, high cheekbones, shiny dark eyes, and a wide mouth in a small, observant smile. He wore the brightest outfit in the whole theatre. It was a black, shiny jacket that still seemed to gleam despite the lights onstage and a white shirt with a bright floral pattern, the collar up, and a few buttons undone. In his softer jacket, pale shirt, and dark pants, Brian seemed to shrink next to him despite his height.

But he was here. He hadn’t forgotten.

The opera itself flew by and before you knew it, you were in the lobby. Brian and his friend walked up to you immediately. In Brian’s arms was a dozen light pink peonies. It was like dreaming. You felt dizzy seeing them. You were on another plane itself when he looked at you with his hazel eyes, gave you the gentlest of smiles, the happiest hello, and held up the flowers for you.

“Oh, hello Brian!” You say. He blushes lightly and his smile widens once you use his name.

You take the flowers into your arms. They were the only flowers you received tonight. Though the other cast members had armfuls of carnations and roses that could fill a garden, none seemed as happy with theirs as you.

“Oh, you didn’t have to! These are stunning! Thank you!” you say.

“It’s your first big role, I thought you deserved them” Brian says. He looks over to the man beside him. “And this is Fred, my opera loving friend that I told you about.”

You look over at Fred, who smiles bashfully and nods. You exchange a handshake. “I’m Y/N. Are you the opera lover in that band Brian talked about?”

Fred stood up a little straighter. He said softly. “I…I actually don’t know that much about opera, but I listen to it. I like the songs. I’ve got a record of Caballe’s Babbino Caro and I listen to it a lot…You did it wonderfully” he added in a shy rush.

“I listened to it a couple times to take ideas on how she did it, she’s fantastic! You must have good taste then!” you say.

Fred smiles meekly and looks around “Are you in…are you busy, Y/N? We could go get a drink…”

Brian whipped his head around so fast it seemed his neck would break. “The pubs must be packed by now, how about a bite! You can have a drink when you get home, Fred! I know I’m always starving after a concert, Y/N here must be the same…”

“I’m famished, actually! And we can always go somewhere that serves drinks!” you answer, then you freeze.

How many stories on the news begin like this? How many times has your mother complained about “stupid girls” who wander off with strange men who lead them to the unspeakable? Didn’t they know better? Didn’t you know better?

“Well, I just need…I want to go but…” I say. The sad look on Brian’s face almost breaks your heart. There doesn’t seem to be anything malicious inside his or even Freddie’s approach to you, yet…

Fred loops around. “I’ll walk you there to the restaurant, we’ll all go! Who doesn’t love food!” he declares, almost swinging you out the door early.

“There’s a Chinese place nearby, let’s go as soon as you’re ready. I have so many questions about…about the opera…” Brian says.

“Yes, let’s! Just let me change!” you agree, running out to the dressing room.

You rush in there, remove your medieval dress, and put on your daily outfit plainer white shirt, jeans, a brown jacket, and black shoes. You wished you wore something nicer. You just didn’t see this coming.

Once Brian leads the way out into the dark, cool air, Freddie struts by your side. He offers his arm and you accept it.

“I saw that look on your face when Brian said that! Don’t be afraid, little lovie,” He whispers “I’m a taken man madly in love and you’re not quite my type. Plus, Brian here once cried after I stepped on a fucking spider, you couldn’t be in safer hands. And if some pervert tries anything, I’ll hook their nose.”

You grin a little, enjoying the warmth of his arm in the cold air of London in Autumn. “Thank you very much. But…you’ve killed a spider, how dare you Fred!” you tease.

Fred then releases a little chuckle and flashes the most extraordinary set of teeth you ever saw. It is large, wide, and glowing white amidst the darkness and gives the illusion of crookedness. Yet its joy is contagious, and you smile back.

Freddie begins to walk a little faster, walking in a bit of a prance. His shiny black hair is bobbing up and down. With Brian’s long legs he seems to struggle a little to keep up. When you see Brian turn around to look at you and smiles your heart races a little bit. On instinct, you squeeze Fred’s arm a bit. Fred almost jumps from surprise.

You can feel that the jacket is quite big on him and his arm is nothing but bone.

Once you three make it into the dim, orange glow of the restaurant, Brian takes each of your jackets and Fred slides next to you.

“I’ll look after those!” He plops them on the seat so that you and Brian are basically forced to sit across from each other and Fred right next to you.

“Thanks a lot, I haven’t been here in a while. I’m new to London and I’ve yet to try all the restaurants” you begin, glancing over the thin, yellow menu.

“You’re new!? What brings you here?” Brian asks. He stands up a little taller, eyebrows wide in curiosity.

You set aside the flowers on the table as if they were a part of the decoration. “Well, there aren’t a lot of opportunities where I’m from and I worked really hard to get into this university.”

“But your voice is stunning! They must’ve accepted you in a second!” Brian blurted. His pale face turned to the pink of the peonies.

“Th-th-thank you” you mutter.

“It’s gorgeous, little lovey, you’re the best female singer I’ve heard, and yes, I mean female since I can’t let myself off too much” Fred states. He opens a straw, showing off the black nail polish on his left hand.

“Oh! And you both paint your nails?” you exclaim, noticing the black and white hands. “They look lovely!”

Brian looks down, eyes glowing. He blinks a little and then says “We do it because it looks really good in concert.”

“They look Better than mine!” You say.

Brian almost retracts his hand with the white nail polish, but then relaxes and let’s you examine it. Then let’s Fred lend his hand for you to look at it as well. Under the yellow lights, the black is especially shiny.

Brian leans in to add “Oh, Fred’s our lead singer! I forgot to mention! He’s amazing!”

Fred covers his teeth a little with his upper lip, his eyes barely touch the menu, and then looks up. “Brian’s got a nice voice too! Could lull a baby, that one!” he praises.

Brian grew pinker “oh, no, Fred, it’s just okay…”

“And he’s a bloody genius on the guitar! The crowd goes mad when he starts to play! And he’s the smartest man you’ll ever meet-he’s studied science, too!” Brian gives Fred a slight kick in the foot, noticing a very old and tired looking waiter walking by.

The waiter comes by and each one of you place your orders. Once the waiter walks off, Brian sighs and continues “uhm, astrophysics to be specific.”

“I studied some of that in a class, er, Astronomy, not Astrophysics, I was never that good at science to be brave enough to try something too advanced. And I took it to fill up a requirement. ” you add. He’s a scientist and you don’t want to look stupid in front of someone who chose to study this. Brian sits, fascinated and listening to every word you say.

“I was excited the very first day because it all seems so fascinating and large- you never realize how small we all are until you look at all the statistics and see how complex it is out there. But then by the second day, I realized he was a bad teacher. I could hardly remember anything, and the textbook was very dense. No one liked the class. I almost failed the class had I not put in a lot of effort and memorized a lot of facts written on cards” you recall.

“I could…I could teach you, Y/N. There’s all sorts of fun stuff to learn about space, not just the crap in Gen Ed courses. Do you have any questions?” Brian asks shyly.

You two continue talking. Indeed, he can talk about space in a simple way. A way that is engaging and accessible. When you notice Fred, you see him with a small smile. He watches and sips his water.

Fred remains quiet and nearly bends over the table. When his order arrives, you notice that it is just clear broth- the cheapest thing on the menu. As you take in forkfuls of chicken and rice, you notice that Freddie keeps glancing at it with shining eyes, yet they dart down when you notice him.

You see the waiter wiping off the residue of the table nearby.

“Uhm, excuse me!” you add.

The waiter perks his head. “May I have a plate of this dish to go, please?” you ask. He nods and darts to the kitchen.

“Fred, what about your band? Tell me more about it!” you say.

You finish half of your meal and slide the other half of the chicken and rice to Freddie. Offering him the clean spoon from the silverware to eat with. Freddie gives his relaxed, full smile and tells you quietly and happily about Queen, about Roger’s arguments and Deaky’s pranks, and how they met and how it started.

Once you pay your bills and you get your bag of the second order of food, you tell the two where you live.

“Can we walk you there?” Brian asks.

You feel another blush coming and you duck down to look at the table. “It’s not, uhm, too far.”

“I just want to make sure you’re safe, Y/N” Brian blurts.

“Sure, you can” you agree, and you can’t resist the big smile that comes on your face.

The three of you walk Wizard of Oz style, you in between and Freddie and Brian on your side. Your bag hits your side slightly as it stays across your arm. Brian offers to keep the peonies safe. Your boots all make click-click noises in rhythm as you head to your flat.

But as you get closer to the steps you look to your right and your stomach turns to ice. Fred (with a wink to Brian) has stopped a few steps before to fiddle with a cigarette and a lighter. Brian’s arm is the only one around yours. As Fred gets the small orange light out and lights his new smoke, he keeps a modest distance.

You look back at him. “Thank you both, and here, Fred, this is for you as a thanks.”

Before he can refuse, you give him the warm bag of food. Fred’s jaw drops a little, so he has to hold his cigarette. “Th…tha…thank you, darling” is all he manages to say.

“And Brian I…I don’t have any food I could hand you, but…” you mutter, but then as he hands you the peonies, you take one. “Here you go, you can have this as my thanks and…”

A sudden idea hits you.

“It would look nice in your hair” you add shyly.

“You can do that” Brian says.

You take one peony from your bunch. Brian leans down so that you can reach his head. You take one and tuck it into his mane. With its pastel pink bloom among the dark curls, it looks like it bloomed there.

“You…you could have our numbers if you’d like, we’ll let you know when Queen’s next gig is” Brian suggests, he pulls out a small notepad and a pencil. After you exchange numbers between you three, there is silence again.

“I had a wonderful time tonight. Better than I’ve had in a while. Good night” you wish them.

“G’night Y/N, our little opera goddess” Fred wishes, before swirling away with the food and smoke.

Brian hesitates a little, and then says “Good night, Y/N” before slowly turning, looking into your eyes, and smiling.

As you go inside, you watch them walk away from the window. They walk until the peony in Brian’s hair is just a tiny light speck.

Unknown to you, it is still in his hair the next morning when he wakes up. He takes it off, holds it with both hands and kisses it tenderly, whispering your name like an incantation.

#queen #queen fanfiction #brian may x reader #brain may #brian may x you #brian may x y/n #brian may imagine #brian may fluff #slow burn #freddie mercury

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[MF] Round Trip

I knew I'd taken something. Or had I? Maybe I hadn't taken anything...maybe I could convince myself it was this putrid coffee causing my tilted delusions and not the blotter strip that was now chewed into a spit ball. I needed to do this...or something...or nothing, and pretend it was something. I needed to get out of the tube, I'd been cooped up in it all week avoiding the sun. I had my portable tube to avoid the rain and my reliable, old, carpeted and air conditioned tube would be waiting when I was done. Now my journey, through time, linear and back again, sideways and off at an angle. It's came like a bolt of lightning. A friend of a friend asked if I wanted some weed. "No" I said, "But I'd love one last trip, nobody has LSD anymore, man." Do dealers even say 'Man' in this day and age? They probably say strange alien things like 'Blasto' or 'Goose'. Dealer: "You want acid, brah?" Brah! I knew it'd be cool...not mainland like man or dude. Dealer: "Look, brah, I can get you acid". I knew in that moment it had to happen, I knew I'd chew it up, hop in the Prius and crash straight through the sunset to my destiny, which hopefully wasn't prison or a cave. We like to think the states is all but mapped, but maybe it's not. Maybe I'll get jumped and raped by Native American troglodytes, my pathetic drugged up cries for help braided with the breeze. No...that sounded terrifying, instead I was living the dream, it wasn't my dream but I'd be living it anyway. Finally it was my turn to let loose and do something crazy, like buy a multi coloured hat or not pay my bill at a restaurant or stab a penguin to impress a sexy Satanist. But do what specifically? What was the day going to bring? Hopefully I could squeeze the dregs of an experience out of the empty toothpaste tube of life.

I was 42, balding and a functioning alcoholic. I hadn't taken acid since I was 23, and to be honest I'd loved every trip I went on. Except for that one time, but we've not thought about that one time for a long time, there was a penis involved and we buried it in the ancient trunk...not a euphemism. But still, this was a change for me, and a sheet of 10 was too much, way too much, but it was done now. I'd just have to wait it out like shit pains. In the words of the late, great Alan Watts "Go through the middle". Normally I drank. Mainly I'd drink to get happy, I'd drink to avoid sadness and I worked to pay for drink. It never really negativity affected my life, I just glided by, like dandelion spores on a cow fart.

My life? Life? My life so far is sketchy. Like a pencil, except with less lead for the bullet. A mixture of times gone by, intense present anxiety all washed down with a whisky sour that tasted like an ash tray. I could pull at those life weeds that seemed to grow from my soul, but they'd always snap off just before they were uprooted, and two days later a clone would appear with friends. I'd just realised I was sat in my sitting room watching the TV. When did I get here? Something was buzzing, loud, loud...It was touching me!

"Honey, are you ok?" My girlfriend looked confused and frightened. "Yeh, I'm good, I just ate some bad sausage and now I feel guilty". She looked at me...she squinted...her eyes swelled like balloons. "You're drunk". "Yes" I said. "Dave gave me cannabis whiskey, but I didn't realise until it was too late, now I'm high, Hiiiiii!". She didn't look impressed and laughing in her face wasn't helping things. "Jesus, Frank, grow up." She sat down and I stopped and watched her watching TV. The show was about bees...she must like bees or something, why else would she be watching it? I stared at my partner of 20 years and reminisced about all the Polaroid moments we'd shared. Happy, smiling, the great love I felt for this delicate flower. Although right now her face looked like a Picasso that'd been in a fire. She couldn't know of this adventure, the coffee adventure, it was just Dave's whiskey. Who the hell was Dave? You could blame anything in life on someone you don't know, just make up a name 'Larry' and say "Larry made me do it! He forced me!" Yeh, sorted, he'll get the blame now. "Forced you to do what, honey?"....Shit, did I say that out loud? "Nothing, just talking to myself." My girlfriend walked in the room. "Did you say something?" How did she do that? I could have swore she was on the sofa. Did she just teleport or did I lose track of time? Did she even speak? "The thing...about Larry". She looked more confused than ever "Who the hell is Larry, and speaking of people I've never heard of, who's Dave?" She started at me for a second...or maybe a minute...maybe a year, I couldn't tell. She grabbed her purse from the counter top "I'm going to my mother's, I'll be back at 10pm, do the dishes, don't drive if you're high and stop drinking with Dave, whoever the fuck he is...love you." The kiss loomed at me like a wardrobe falling on a toddler, but the kiss itself was gentle and comforting. She slammed the door and I screamed out "No guns". Last week she'd given me a look I'd only ever seen out of the tube, for a moment I suspected she was one of them. I mean, she was always talking to them, she drank coffee with them, she'd even dated a few of them before we met. Could it be, that they, the insufferable 'they' had snatched her unsuspecting body from under my nose, recruited her for their evil purposes? No, she was clean. She was cleaner than a hookers kid, a filthy hooker who felt so unconsciously dirty that she'd scrub that child like the tires to an old Jeep.

I'd keep my eye on her though, just incase she slipped up and told me to "Have a nice day, now". I'd always recoiled at the very presence of plastic pleasantries. Here I am having a perfectly horrible day, with shit under my nose and piss on tap, when all of a sudden, out the dank cloud covered sky, a spotty necked teen with more shassy than teeth tells me to "Have a nice day". Now I feel obliged to at least try. Ok, you pimple faced throw back, I'll smile at the next person I see. Yes, that'll show the little fuck. I'll smile, and the victim of said smile, this stranger, this urchin, their heart will swell to bursting with gratitude and Buddha himself will congratulate me for filling my karma bar to capacity. There'll be cake, and I'll give a speech, I'll thank everyone but my mother, and she'll look at my auntie Barbara with that 'What an ungrateful little prick' look in her eyes and I'll grin smugly...lock me in a cupboard now you wilting old sow.

Then out of the heat and sweat I saw the woman I was going to smile at. A bag lady with no hair, at least not on her bald head. She'd be the one I'd punch to the moon with cheer. She got closer to her fate, and then... we made eye contact. At the last second I looked at my coffee. She wasn't worth it I figured, she'd only have told me to go fuck myself, spittle covering my once dry and sterile face just as she hits the 'Fffff". Now look what that snot nosed teen had done, he's ruined an old bald lady's life. What was in this coffee? It tasted like coffee but it brought on waves fear and heavy anxiety. I'd only ever felt fear similar on rollercoasters or strangely enough when taking to attractive nuns. I hated the fun fair, it didn't make sense to me to call something fun when not everyone would find it fun. Some people find torture fun but they don't call it the fun rack. Or maybe they do in this degenerates house. Maybe everything to do with torture has a double entendre stapled to its forehead. The skull crusher was now called the party hat, and the fingernail bamboo were now happy sticks. Who knows what depraved things go on behind hypothetical closed doors.

I decided to sleep on the hood of my car, driving wasn't an option, the coffee had hit me like a ton of bricks. I toyed with the idea of chewing through the windscreen, that way I couldn't be arrested for being behind the wheel. No judge in the world would buy that story. "So officer, you found the suspect behind the wheel?" "Yes your honour". "Did you witness him enter the vehicle?" "Yes your honour, he chewed through the windscreen". "Bailiff, have this officer put to death immediately for lying in a court of law". I was hungry now and breakfast seemed like last year. I rolled my head around to the left and caught sight of Everest's peak in the form of a Wendy's. That's where I would find the holy grail, all wrapped up like a breakfast burger, fully edible with inner peace located just under a pickle. I flopped off the hood and hit the floor like an old roll of carpet, with blood in my mouth I stood up, licked my teeth and spat a crimson mist into the air. I aimed my bone sack towards the light. One tactical forward lean and I was careering towards my destination with gusto, too much gusto, I flipped over a fence and landed sitting up looking at the burger joint, which now looked kind of dirty, just like a good slut should. Just what I needed, a filth grilled lardwich to snap me out of my coffee funk. What was in that coffee? I was sat slumped on a step just to the left of the entrance to Wendy's, when one of 'them' asked me if I was ok, "Yes" I said. "It's just my heart, the valves are wonky and they pump blood directly to my nose, the can't cure it, it's like cancer of the hair, you can shave it off, but it'll just grow back". I had a feeling her demeanour had shifted from concern to fear. "Just kidding" I said. "I'm having a stroke, now leave me alone, I'm tired." It worked, she disappeared back into the store looking confused.

I looked to my right, there was a dog tied to a post. He was a slave alright, a slave to the good life. He wasn't allowed in the store, but there were treats coming, I could tell. "You from round here?" I asked it. "Yeh, not far, you?" Oh my Christ, I thought. A talking dog. To be fair I had asked it a question, if I didn't want an answer, why did I ask? "Hey, buddy. I asked you a question, you live far?" He was getting demanding, he was acting aggressively and I was in for it if I delayed any longer. I mustered enough courage to say "I don't like dogs anyway, don't trust em, as far as I could throw em". A face appeared from behind a wall. "Take a hike then, buddy, you started taking to me". It was a man, not a dog, the dog hadn't said a word. Unless it was a ventriloquist, a very talented...no probably not, probably just the owner. I shouted "I'm having a stroke!!" I think I said it to the face, but I might have said it to the dog.

It was time to leave, the confused waitress was probably finished amassing her army of staff to forcibly removed me from the premises. I was supposed to eat here, but that was over now, I was pretty sure McDonalds was next. I might end up killing someone over there, better get it over with sooner rather than later. I stood up and stepped on the dogs paw, it yelped and scuttled back to its master. The master shot me a look of hate and disbelief "You drunken idiot, you nearly broke my dogs foot". "Dogs don't have feet, they have paws, and that dogs due a death. If it wasn't me It'd be Venezuelan hitmen". The master stood up and dragged his flea ridden ventriloquist dog away from my space. He mumbled something about 'drunken' something about 'cunt' and something about 'terrorism'. The last comment didn't make sense but I just figured he was a right wing nut with a racist dog and spiders behind his eyes. No wonder he was upset, poor bastard. I walked towards the McDonalds and tried to comprehend the dangers I could potentially face on the road. There was a set of traffic lights, but I didn't want to cross there like one of 'them'. I'd run straight across the freeway like Frogger and hope for no traffic, if I was unlucky enough to run into a semi, I'd look it in the eye and be the bug all over its front face thing. I'd scar the driver with my blood and guts in his grill, even if his last 10 murder rapes had been like water of a greasy bastards back.

I walked past a bench with a bald man sitting on it. I shouted "FROGGER!" He looked at me like I just yelled "RAPE!" His strange bald face started to speak "Who's raping you?" Oh my Christ, I'm thinking one thing and saying another. I loudly whispered "Frogger, but that was the 80's, I'm having a stroke". That stroke line was working a treat. I ran across the road avoiding all traffic and landed on some grass. I could lay here awhile, get my bearings.

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