That’s How the Cookie Crumbles (part 4)

Note: just check the previous entries for parts 1, 2, and 3.

Too many photographers, reporters, cameras, plain old slobs packing the street like a tin of sardines. Add the facts that I’m wearing a coat, AND I ran down fifteen flights of stairs, sweat’s dripping off my damn brow. Some big shot’s talking on the stage now. I have no idea who the Hell it was, but I gotta take her picture. Must be this year’s beauty queen.
I tried to pull my camera out of my coat pocket. Then, I don’t know, maybe, just MAYBE, some idiot on the other side of the crowd decided to give away free t-shirts, and the herd of sheeple decided that they want said t-shirts. Fuck.

The crowd cleared a little. When I say “a little”, I exaggerate. Still tight as Hell. I’m on the asphalt, sitting on my ass. They just announced the Mayor’s going to deliver a speech now. Better take pictures. I took out my camera, or what’s left of it. Where the Hell’s my mobile phone? I patted down every pocket I had. Nothing. Shit. Where’s my wallet? Great. This must be my lucky day.

to be continued

One Response to “That’s How the Cookie Crumbles (part 4)”

  1. […] The Ghostwriter's Blog Just another weblog « That’s How the Cookie Crumbles (part 4) […]

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