'Listen, Mr Big Time Editor, you can take your story on the Cup Cake Convention in Cupcake County, and shove it where the sun don't shine.'
Yeah, that would have shown him he can't push Jim Henderson around. The trouble was he hadn't said it. And here he was in Cupcake County. Walking alone through a dumb hick town after his stoopid hire car died and his expensive cell phone battery died after five minutes of fucking use.
Jim walked, fuming at his impotency to determine his life, blind to the beauty of the night that enveloped him, stars brilliant against the hulking buildings of the strange neighbourhood he found himself walking through. Instead he stared at the ground, mumbling, 'Yeah, that would've shown the bastard,' as he aimed a kick at discarded Mc Vomit drink carton.
Just as in his life, he missed, scuffing the carton feebly, his ankle twisting. Stumbling, a stone, caught between his shoe and kerb, pinged up into his eye.
'Jesus!' Jim swore, hopping on one foot, clutching eye and ankle. 'Damn Cupcakeville and damn the fucking Editor!'
Then he heard it. A scream. Across from him, down a dim and unlit alley. A woman's scream. Figures, huge figures, hunched over a supplicating form, arms flailing. He could see at least four attackers.
Jim realized this was his chance for redemption. His big chance to change around his life. No more would he be pushed around. He reached into his pocket and breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, it was there.
He fingered his note book, the scene before him was cinematic and he needed to get the detail down soon. This was a real story. A human story of life in the mean streets that would make his name. He could already see his editor smiling. And like a cockroach scuttling from the light, Jim made for safety.