This fight never should have happened.
Like they are whitewater rafting through the silver screen.
All the women walk along Waikiki Beach like models on a runway.
A twin bed with noisy springs covered in tinsel.
She splashes whiskey all over the desk.
Paper thin masked fighters bleed out from the jungle.
Just outside my peripheral vision.
The corpses are hidden in the cold, Irish fog.
Running from the plague masked headmaster.
Everything has to be timed just right.