I looked out over the masses. Between me and my goal milled hundreds of the worst sort of pedestrians. Tourists. Somewhere across the piazza a girl, and her girl, waited.
This date...more than any other...I could not fuck up.
I started across the sunstruck stones, their heat searing even through my shoes. The picnic basket in my hand no longer seemed so grand an idea as I sought to twist and push through any gap that presented itself.
Didn't these fools know that I had someplace I needed to go?
Every yard of progress seemed to cost me more time...
I shot my butler. Bastard had it coming to him. He insulted me at every turn, never cleaned any dishes, put his feet up as I hoovered the floors. He never did anything for me.
I could have just fired him - that seems like it would have been the rational thing to do. But then he had the guts to insult my mother in front of me.
Nobody insults my mother.
It was a nice sunny day. I was having a picnic with my lovely mistress, out in the woods. We found a nice little clearing where we could...