A prize for myself

Out of the seventy nine things that I was planning had to do today, I settle for three and added a special prize for me if I manage to do them all. The first one was to go to the post office to drop a couple of bills that were already due; the second was to go to the bank to deposit a hell of a lot of cash that was burning a hole in my pocket; and the third one was to go to the library to return those two books that I picked up many months ago and never even bother to open, and to pick up two more -I'll pay the fine sometime later this year.

Once I left my condo and passed the first traffic light, I showed my middle finger to the guys from the Chinese Buffet who were smoking a cigarette outside the door. And at that very same moment I realized that I'd forgotten the books. Damn! I said to myself and cranked the music even louder. Oh well, "what the fuck" I thought and narrowed my tasks to two: bank and post office.

And as there was only two tasks in my mental list, I went to get my prize: a computer video game. The last time I got one was maybe three years ago, and I guess was that early version of Rainbow Six, so it was about time to try something different. After doing a little research on titles and prices, I settle for Medal of Honor and the two expansion packages that came with it: Breakthrough and Spearhead. Fancy names I have to point out.

Needless to say I've been in front of the computer killing friends and foes alike for the last six hours or so. When I close my eyes and I can see all the little soldiers running around shooting at me but being killed by my machine gun. In these games you always have like a group of soldiers that walk with you and help you kill enemies, but sometimes those bastards get on the way so I also shoot them. Recklessly.

I got a bit hungry so I went to get me a little snack in the grocery store, which is located beside the library, so I said "I'm going to kill to birds with one stone" and grabbed the two books. Inside the library I was looking for something to entertain my brain these days, so I went to check good old John Grisham. I picked up the last book in his section with the title "The Partner", turned to see the back cover and in large white letters written on a dark grey background that resembles the shadow of a man running it read "It began when he disappeared. But it didn't really start until they found him. . .". Now, who can resist not picking up that book, ah? Not me.

Have to do some more killing before going to bed. . . oh, and taking a shower of course.