Miyashita Park. Wonderful. --- [i]"Really? Because an unbuttoned jacket and a t-shirt has been my summer attire since I was 14. And I sure as hell don't think I'm cool." His slight british accent echoed throught the small tavern. The tall, slender female next to him had a questionable face. Half-bored. Half-confused. Half-smiling. 3 halves. Abnormal, she was. That was the only way to describe the female. Absolutely abnormal. Not physically. But mentally, internally, the kind of thing you could learn from reading faces. The red-headed girl was weird. But, nonetheless, she responded. "Really? Because the amount of assing idiots that do are immensely unreasonable. I mean, how many people can think that?" Five people raised their hands. Fuck.[/i] What in the bloody hell's bells was that- "Hello." WAAUUUGH WHAT IN THE FUCK! I, being the oblivious idiot me, threw my one and only writing utensil- a pen- at the voice that came from my write, with excellent aim I might add, and guess what? The Bloody Beetroot karate chopped it in half. The pen that I have stuck with for so long had just been chopped in half. "I AM GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU-" I threw a forceful punch at the voice to my right, and I pretty much got my ass ripped out. The fucker had punched me in the abdomen, sending me straight to the ground, holding my midsection. See, I'm a terrible fighter. Always have been. I'm a writer, not an MMA fighter, so I'm wimpy as shit. There we go, some information about me. I'm just a long-haired 20 year old who likes to write and fall in love with fellow females. I'm a fucking wimp. But I digress, after somebody has broken your most valuable item right after a meteor shower you just WROTE THROUGH, what else would you be? You're almost useless, your alias is gone right there and you don't expect anything to happen. "Oh god, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Me, still laying on the hard floor of Miyashita Park at nighttime, furious and about to break out crying, I tried to stand up. All that happened, though, was sheer pain and electricity seeming to strike my abdomen everytime I tried to move. A grunt came out, though. It was almost a blessing, having an excuse to not talk to someone you're furious with. But the curse was the feeling of near death. --- Serj, am I? Am I really Serj though? Am I someone else entirely? No, I'm fucking Serj. And I'm not doing shit. I'm simply just walking throughout Shibuya at nighttime. Hey, somebody lying dead. That's cool. I always like people dead. Yeah, I just walked past someone dead. Why? Because I'm cool like that. I was on my way to ten-four anyways. Maybe see a few soaps or two being shot. That's what was always in ten-four anyways, 12/5 or something abnormal like that. Why? Because why the fuck not, that's why. I like abmormal things. And illogical ones. Who wouldn't? Smartasses. I'm answering my own questions too much. So, I actually got to ten-four. Surprising. Shibuya, being the famous nightlife city, I expected to get run over by a crowd of teenage girls following some hot pop sensation running down the street. But, there was nothing being shot. And some orange-haired emo prick was walking towards ten-four building with his enormous pack of friends. I wasted my time.