Bad Day (open to all)

[Xombie]

Marcus kept running, he didn't know if they were still following him let alone who was following him, the job was skunked no doubt about it, they were probably set up, all of them Bilko, Joe, and Fontaine now they were dead all of them except for him, he only got away because of his goddamn abilities, mythical powers and shit like that. it didn't stop him from getting a bullet in the shoulder though, second blink and one of the bastards got him with a 9 mm round from one of those machine pistols. it wasn't until Marcus jumped off the centre street bridge did he get a sucsessful blink attempt, next thing he knew he was face down in a dumpster on the corner of stephen ave and 9th street, he looked behind him and stopped running, the blood still pouring out of his wound. Marcus clapped a hand around the bullet hole and continued walking, the streets were deserted tonight so it would hopefully be a nice uneventful walk home, he pulled his flatcap down to hide his face and coughed as he closed his black and green striped hoodie and winced every time he moved his left arm, he coughed again and shook his head.

"just a simple job Marc no worries man all you gotta do is get us in blah blah blah" the words from Bilko sounded like a broken record in his head, over and over again Marcus cursed himself for ever getting involved with that job, "easy peas my arse" he mumbled and rested against a brick wall, taking a deep breath and looking around him, he wasn't that far from his apartment, but he wasnt that close either "i need a drink" he muttered and pulled his pipe out of his satchel and packed it with tobacco, he placed the finely crafted wooden pipe in his mouth and lit it with his zippo, taking a long drag off his pipe he continued on, coughing once more, singing to himself

"Let grasses grow and waters flow

In a free and easy way

But give me enough of the rare old stuff

That's made near Galway Bay

And policemen all from Donegal,

Sligo and Leitrim too

We'll give them the slip and we'll take a sip

Of the real old mountain dew.

There's a neat little still at the foot of the hill

Where the smoke curls up to the sky

By a whiff of the smell you can plainly tell

That there's poteen boys close by.

For it fills the air with a perfume rare

And betwixt both me and you

As home we roll, we can drink a bowl

Or a bucketful of mountain dew.

Now learned men as use the pen

Have writ' the praises high

Of the rare poteen from Ireland green

Distilled from wheat and rye

Away with your pills, it'll cure all ills

Be ye pagan, Christian, or Jew

So take off your coat and grease your throat

With a bucket of the mountain dew."