Snippet #960005

Greg regarded the sturdy entry door with disdain. He'd knocked several times, hard, and still the manse was dark. It was dark, period, and Greg was in no mood to tarry much longer after sunset. This was drinking time, and it already took at least ten minutes to beat that deadbeat shithead Josh into opening the bar on time.

".... FUCK," Greg decided. Earlier that night he'd killed a bull running loose in the middle of town with a single hammer-blow, which had alleviated some of his furiosity, but this no-answer bullshit was starting to get annoying.

Looking upwards, Greg spotted some faint light, as if from a single candle, in an upper-story window.

"HEY! FUCKASS! I FINISHED YOUR GODDAMN BOOK RACK THINGAMAJIG!" Era had paid for prompt delivery, and prompt delivery he would have. Greg took pride in his commissions.

"GIRLHAIR! PRETZEL-ARMS! OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR!"

No response.

"I am a working man," Greg muttered, plucking a small hammer from his toolbelt, "and time is money."

The small hammer sailed upwards in a beautiful parabolic arc, and smashed cleanly through the window of Era's study.