"It's nothing personal, lady," he yelled out in my general direction. "When Boris says jump, you gotta say how high, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," I yelled back. "Fuck you." My own gun felt heavy in my hand and I circled around towards the soda cases in the back of the store so he couldn't track my movements in the reflection of the store window.

"Why'd you have to start shit at that game last night, anyway? Don't you got a man at home to keep you busy?" He snickered, and I wanted to puke.

"You mean a big strong man like you, you pimply fucking freak?"

"Shut up, bitch," he said, and fired off another shot as I ran between the snack and toilet paper aisles. This kid was really pissing me off now.

I eyed the back door just 30 feet away. Fuck.

And then, it became my lucky day. A customer unknowingly walked through the front door-- somehow missing the sound of all the gunshots prior-- and I heard the jingle bells jingle at his entrance. The kid, now standing back over by the counter, glanced up in surprise and I took my chance. The bullet hit him in the knee cap and he screamed out.

"What the shit?!" The hapless customer scrambled back out the front door and into the parking lot to get the fuck out of there.

Good idea, buddy. I sprinted toward the back door and kicked it open. I ran around the corner and didn't look back for 2 miles.

He said it was Boris. Boris made the call. How did Boris even know that douchemonger Pat from last night? And why did he even care?

My head pounded and chest burned as I tried to replay the events of last night, searching for answers that wouldn't come.

But it really doesn't matter, does it? Boris is after me.

I am so fucked.