Matt sat in his small, dark, grungy apartment, carefully inserting a small weight into a die. He bit the tip of his tongue in concentration; weighting dice tends to take awhile. He perked up slightly as he heard a commotion on the street a few floors below. Shoving his half-empty salt shaker into his pocket, he jogged down the stairs, slamming open the door to the complex just as a man dashed around the corner, barreling towards him at a pretty decent rate. Acting almost without conscious though, Matt shoved his hand into his pocket, stepping quickly to the side as salt flowed out of the shaker, coalescing into almost a screen of granules suspended in front of the man's face. Grinning, Matt waited for the salt to enter his eyes. 

He pictured the moment in his head—the expression of surprise, the sudden pain, the inevitable fall—and was so intrenched in his vision that he neglected to notice the other man, this time a black man in a white suit, as he came screeching around the corner with nigh superhuman speed. By the time he noticed him, the man was directly on top of him, leaving him no time to react, so he did the only thing he could.

He braced for impact.