Madness Repeated
The sound of his bruised pin hitting the excuse for a stage stunned him. Then, he got angry. Cursing violently, he tossed another as hard as he could at the bartender. It was his fault! His damnable inn was too loud for his talents! Cursed people, couldn’t appreciate a master of the arts. He grabbed one of the more drunken one’s by his collar and slammed his fist into him. His smile widened as the innkeeper started to recover and called for his bouncers. A fight! Let the peons have it! He could best them all! Make them all look like fools! Then he would stay in the innkeepers chambers because no one could keep him out!
As he had so many nights previous, the performer found himself outside, in the cold, hungry and bruised, with no recollection of how he got there. He was wearing plain clothes, stained with blood -- his blood? -- torn and tattered.
And so he went.
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Important: If you've enjoyed this, please read this--Copyright: 1997