Fosco was not in the mood to deal
With some motorcycle gang hoping
To cash in on the terror of “war”.
“Give us all your weapons,” the blonde man
With the grey pistol demanded. He
Aimed his gun at Fosco as four more
Men crept out of the trees. “You heard him,”
Said a bald man as he walked up to
Fosco and pointed his gun in his face.
“Get yo gun out my face,” Fosco warned.
The man laughed and said, “You gonna make
Me?” His friends laughed and surrounded the
Airport survivors. “Don’t test me,” the
Blonde cautioned, “Its been a long day filled
With apocalyptic gloom. My boys
And I could take you out in a blink.
Make it easy, give us what we want.”
Fosco glared and said, “I got places
To be and people to see, messing
Around with greedy, trash-ass white boys
Ain’t on my schedule for the evening.”
“You got a mouth on you, dontcha, boy,”
Baldy remarked, “how about I cut your tongue.”
He didn’t finish that sentence;
Fosco head-butted him in the nose
The snatched his gun from him. “Try me, bitch.”
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