Javier casually tosses the shoebox full of mewing kittens to the ground. It sits now almost at my feet. If I could somehow distract him, just for a second, for one lousy second. One lousy second later, a car alarm pierces the air and Javier looks around quickly, like a frightened koala, vainly trying to ascertain the source of the hideous sound. At the age of 39, Javier had heard countless car alarms, and his reaction was the same each time; horrified confusion. He had an IQ of 49.
Seizing the opportunity, I grabbed the shoebox and ducked behind a lettuce factory. Javier was on his feet now, and coming towards me. My knife! I searched my coat, but found it in my pants pocket. All the while, Javier gets closer. Generally, nobody gets close to Javier, unless, as he once said, "it's for rapin' or killin' and then rapin'."
I didn't like the sound of any of that. Darren wasn't buying what Javier was selling. It didn't matter if he was a second away from finding me. A half a second is all I need. I use my Putin knife and cut the twine off the shoebox full of kittens.
I'm running now. I have to or the kittens will get me, too. I can hear them behind me, tearing into Javier's liver and playing frisbee with his asshole. That's what these kittens do. And now, they are as free and out-there as Javier's spleen. Man, those kittens. It didn't have to end like this.
Ok, video is uploaded. Enjoy!