the bullet shattering his left shoulder, but not before shredding most of the soft tissue and muscle around it. Even so, He was up and ready, and allowed to be there for the trial and execution of this walking evil that plagued Humanity, though he had to wear a sling to do so. In my own mind, I had hoped that seeing this situation would give me more closure with a similar monster from my own past, but all it seemed to do, was piss me off more. So much for my aggression therapy, I would have to get my money back, as it didn't seem to be working. I began to blame myself for Mathias' injuries, so I tried to distance myself from him for a little while, but like some puppy waiting to be thrown a stick, he kept coming back. It didn't work, damn it. He still kept coming, didn't he know that this was for his own good, or was it for mine? Still not quite sure.
I made it to Theodore Stephen International Airport withing a half an hour, avoiding most of the main lights via back roads, and met Mathias at the baggage claim just as he was picking up his duffel bag and suitcase, his other bag he had to get from security, as it had his “toys” in it when he traveled. He would have to show them all his paperwork and ID. to retrieve it, comes with the job, as it were. I had to do the same thing, should I travel for work of any kind. Although, I haven't traveled much of anywhere in the past couple of years, so not really an issue, most of my work has been local. We hugged and said our hellos, all the while my stomach was rumbling, and my mouth needed more than coffee. I know, it sounds like an open line for something raunchy, but, this time, it wasn't. We agreed on the way that the Sun Dollar Cafe in Dark Side of the Moon Books off of C street and Benson was the best deal, andwe made it there in record time, hitting all the green lights. I was dodging the idiots in their supped-up SUV's and Hummer 3's, with their so-called all-weather tires, and anti-lock breaks,which really suck on black ice. If you screw up, as the remains of my last vehicle I had could attest to, bad news. I'm still really pissed off over that, I mean, it was a brand new two thousand and seven Ford Bronco with custom rims, and tricked out paint job, for Christ's sakes. I spent over two years getting her ready, it was really sucky. With the insurance payment, and the fact that I threatened the reproductive organ of the moron driving the other vehicle, I managed to get my new ride within a month of the accident. Some people might think that have repressed rage issues, I think that they are probably right. Who am I to argue with the overall field of Psychology? My form of therapy is a strong right hook, and a stronger shot of whiskey, and it's cheaper. I am good with that.