Nemesis

I never realised just how important it is to have a nemesis. It’s been a couple of years since I last had contact with mine and to be honest I miss the duels. Nemeses are so annoying and can sometimes make you so irate that your face goes red and your eyes bulge out and all you want to do is lash out at them with expletives. But of course this is what they desire, to demonstrate to the public that they can manipulate you into a state of frenzy while they sit their calmly delivering their point in a quiet yet succinct manner.

I used to clash with my particular nemesis over many varying issues, ranging from the mundane, like what’s the better food store, to more heavy weight issues such as the state of politics in Britain. Usually they would be cordial exchanges at first, one would let the other speak before the other gave their counter argument. After a few pints though the amenities would be forgotten in a drunken haze and we’d be talking all over each other to get our points across. The thing is, I lost most of them. My nemesis has the far superior intellect, and defeating her in an argument was a very tall order. She often used four syllable words to try and baffle me yet they were all relevant to her argument. She also has an extremely logical mind in her armoury that was able to map out the route to victory in a debate and would nudge the argument towards that direction. It was up to me to throw in a few grenades of obstruction and inform her that she might be incorrect. She’d never once admit defeat but I’d known when I’d got her buy the consternation of her face and the pause before taking a drink. And if she didn’t have a reply she’d change the subject. That’s when I knew I’d won. The victories were scant but they annoyed her immensely more than I felt joyful about them. So why did I argue and debate with her?

Well it’s because I had to give her my opinion on things. Hearing something that I didn’t think was right or perhaps been misinterpreted meant I had to get my point across. And from there we’d argue quite a bit about a lot of things. There were plenty of times I tried so hard to make her see my point of view but she’d always have a counter point, I swear she had a repository of counter points written on a piece of paper that she kept in her pocket.

After a while it all ceased. She went to London and I did not. It might be considered good to get rid of the person who you disagree with most. And you’re right. It felt good indulging in my own opinions and classifying them as correct in my own little world where I’m omnipotent. I would still get into a debate with other people but I’d defeat them easily which initially left me feeling all tingly because I won. After a while though the tingling stopped and I realised just how much I need a nemesis. Without one I’ve got no arena to improve my arguing skills, after all it was losing umpteen times to my original nemesis that taught me how to debate in a well thought out structured way. I also, can’t help but feel a lot of the way I learn things is because of the influence my nemesis had over me. I always make sure the fact is correct and try to find out as much as I can about a subject, well as much before my concentration elapses.

I wouldn’t mind encountering my nemesis again, a lot has changed in both our lives and our experiences are a lot different. Maybe now I’m more equipped in vocabulary and strategy. I’ve always been the better orator but something tells me I’d still lose. At least it would be good to get the tongue flapping again over a heavy weight issue.

I wonder if she supports the war in Iraq.


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“I heard from a pal of mine that I befriended at a club. Turns out he likes drinking a lot and we got talking. He told me about this garage off Chester Street, at first I thought nothing of it but he said there’s a young man that works there most evenings. He sorts him and his friends out with alcohol. He thinks the world of him but I couldn’t care less. He tells me that he usually works with one older lady and occasionally another one. Then it hits me! Why don’t I rob the place? If there’s only two people looking after it, a spotty boy and an old lady, surely we’re capable of ransacking the joint.”

There was silence after Gregor spoke. He looked at them both seeing who would speak up first. The plan sounded so easy.

“There’s only a boy and a woman who look after the place?” Asked Davy.

“Isn’t that what I just said you twerp. Essentially that is all involved but I want everyone to commit before I go further with my plan. So who is with me?”

Davy raised his hand and turned to Charles who looked deep in his thoughts. Charles thought that the idea in principle was good, a vulnerable target that would reap a huge amount of money for one nights work.

“Alright I’m in.” He says.

“’bout time you answered, you looked like you were lost in another world. Right, although I said that in general this job is going to be easy we need to be prepared because if it goes wrong we’ll be in prison for at least ten years.” Gregor sat down and took a deep breath. He was a meticulous planner and always covered every area. He was about to digress his already carefully pre-thought out plan.

“Davy I want you to investigate security. How many CCTV cameras there are outside, inside and which company supplies them. I want you to work out if there are any police patrols around that area and if so what time they go buy and what days. Find out the constable who is on the patrol. I want you also to find out as much as you can about the building, how many rooms it has, where the light switches are kept, you know what I mean.”

“Charles, what I want you to do is find out what you can about the two people that work there. See if it is just two and no more. If it is more find out about them also. Learn what their shift patterns are, how they get to work, the route they take. See if you can find out a bit about them, you know, their potential weaknesses. I also want you to find out a good escape route, one by car and one by foot. You got that?”

Charles nodded in acknowledgment of his assignment. Gregor got up sharply and paced around the room circling Davy and Charles.

“I want you to report back in two weeks what you have found and then from this information we’ll formulate a plan of action. If we do our research right we’ll be laughing. If we don’t it’ll be some constable who’ll be laughing. Now I’m going to carry on speaking to my new acquaintance to see if he can tell me where the safe is stored and if possible get some photos of it. I’ll do some research my self to find out how much this place has in the safe and I’ll let you boys know.”

Gregor gave a satisfying smile, his minions were about to do his bidding for a job he had discovered and would see through. Charles, hates this self-satisfying look. The smug arrogant look of triumph. And when he finds out just how much is in the safe is he going to tell us the real amount of money stashed away? No, he knows what Gregor is like, he’s damn sure that he’ll get Davy to watch the front and Charles to watch the door while he alone retrieves the money from the safe. Fucker! And yet the plan is good. He’s assembled a team that won’t just meander into a garage pull out a gun and expect everything to run smoothly. No, he knows that a lot of planning is needed and it’s better that the team spilt of to do a segment of research. Fucker!

Hungover

I write this blog entry still suffering from a hangover caused by drinking Theakston’s Old Peculiar and a bottle of red wine. It’s a horrible feeling in my stomach, a kind of dull ache with fizzy explosions now and then causing me to gag for a few moments. In a lame attempt to appease this feeling I kind of lay at a strange angle on my bed, the top half of me is on its side while the bottom part is laying flat and pointing to the ceiling. I keep tricking myself into thinking that by doing this the nauseating bubbling coming from the depths of my stomach will stop. It doesn’t. And I eventually get back ache and move causing me to gag a bit more and throw the pillow over my head and give a groan similar to the one when I’ve got ‘man flu’. Usually when feeling like this I just go to the bathroom, kneel down, stick two fingers down my throat and inhale the pleasantries that the U-bend has to offer me. But I don’t feel like it, the vomiting I find tolerable it’s after everything has been regurgitated and all that’s left is the bright yellow, ear wax tasting stomach bile that puts me off. It freaks me out and every time I taste it a little part of me is mentally scared. So instead I queasily try to ride it out and think of things to stop me thinking about sick. Which leads me to the second part of my blog.

I was going through my photos on my mobile and I forgot to mention I saw this the other week when I was out for a walk at lunch. It really brightened up my day for a few moments, knowing there were some folks out there that have a sense of humour. But the pleasant feeling turned into a slight worry that Ol’ Greg might be lurking under that bridge like a troll waiting to pounce. I really didn’t fancy checking out his “manjina” so turned right around and headed back.

This guy also cracks me up too.

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Charles walks into the room to see Gregor sitting at the end of the table bearing his teeth as means of greeting. On his left sits Davy. Charles gingerly steps forward assuming he is allowed because of the bearing of the teeth by Gregor.

“Hello Charlie, wasn’t sure if you was going to turn up on time but you proved us wrong.” Said Gregor leaning back on his chair.

The room is dark except for the lamp shade in the corner which only gives enough illumination to make out who is sitting next to you. It’s also quite bare expect for the table in the middle where they all sit and the little table in the corner where the lamp is rested. Charles doesn’t like this meeting room, it’s too sinister and extenuation of Gregor’s psyche, he thinks of the converted garage. No one can really think clearly in here, certainly not him and he feels that’s the way Gregor likes it. The only one who enjoys and flourishes in this damp dark environment is the teeth barer.

“Right gentlemen, I have a new project. I’ve done some ground work but I think we all need to do some research to ensure it’s a success.”

“What is it?” Asked Davy quickly.

“Well Davy, I want us to rob the garage off Cavendish street.”

“Fucking hell. You’re nuts, we’ve tried armed robbery we’re no good at it.” Says Charles rubbing the palm of his hand on his forehead to ease the sudden shock of Gregor’s plan.

“We would have gone through with it if it wasn’t for incompetence. Besides this is going to be a lot easier. A bank. Bloody hell what was I thinking. But a garage, a garage that is run by a boy and a middle aged mum, should be easy. I think there should be a safe and at least a four grand each for us to share.”

There was a silence. The audacity of the idea had spread doubt into everyone’s mind. The chances of being caught are high and the time in jail long. However, the thought of earning that amount of money on just one job had them all staring at Gregor intently.

Not Such A Good Day

Tuesdays are generally crap and this one in particular leaves a foul stench in the air as Wednesday approaches. It started of with being faced with a puddle this morning in order to get to work. If I walked around the puddle it would have added, at most, 30 seconds onto my journey. However, being an efficient subordinate I decided to walk through the puddle and save the 30 seconds. The first few steps indicated that this puddle was no more than a few millimetres deep but as I reached the middle I was gravely mistaken. As my right foot landed, where I was expecting the ground I felt the water start to seep into my shoe, soak my sock and beginning making the bottom of my trousers wet. “Shit” was all I could really say as I finally found the bottom with my feet. Now stuck in the middle of the puddle with my left leg flaying in the air I decided to cut my losses and just wade my way through. What else was I going to do other than stand there looking like a dick? So I arrived at work with light brown shoes turned dark brown and sporting two tone coloured trousers. I was really tempted to just take off my socks, ring them out and lay them on the heater. As this wasn’t office etiquette I just decided to just take them off and walk around in wet shoes for the rest of the day.

Yet this wasn’t the end of my clothing woes. I was sitting down at my desk and leaned back to stretch then leaned forward again to feel my belt twang and then rip apart. The piece of string that keep my trousers up had snapped leaving me with trousers that would quite happily fall down at every opportunity. So I had to spend the rest of the day with my hands in my pockets every time I wanted to walk around so that they could hold up my trousers. One rather uncomfortable incident was when I was returning from the toilet to see one of the ladies from work trying to open the door but struggling because she was holding two cups of tea in each hand. As she saw me approaching she gave me a look of relief as she knew surely I would open the door for her. Her smile soon turned to a look of disturbance as I slowly withdrew my right hand to open the door but still had my left one clenched tightly into a ball holding on to the material so my trousers wouldn’t slip. She looked down to see this bulge protruding out and can only assume she either thought I was packing some serious manhood or was about to pull out a knife on her. As soon as the door became open she scuttled off without even saying a thank you. I just cussed under my breath saying how shit the day is.


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He hates this robber, and yet he wants to meet him. Find his out what his motives were to rob this garage and inflict two innocent people into a state of shock. The chances are remote but should the police capture him he will request to visit him if he is allowed.

He opens his eyes and feels that his mind has settled down a bit and picks himself up and sits back on the bench. He pulls out his mobile phone and starts to scroll through the names, he reaches K and sees Karen’s name appear on the screen. It’s 5 am in the morning, she will be asleep, she won’t want to hear what’s happened to him. Will she care? It could have been a lot different and now Yannish wishes it was. He is lonely but doesn’t want to risk being rejected by her in his most needing moment. When she spoke to him last night she sounded so innocent but she was guilty. He had caught her and she admitted it and he finished the relationship there on the spot. She begged him to let her talk, to give her reason but he wouldn’t listen. She would ring him and he would answer the phone and hear her sobbing and all he’d do is put the phone down. All because he had caught her. That was it surely if you see someone doing something really bad to you then you must cut them out of your life. But she wasn’t out of his life she was the most interesting woman he had ever met, she had enchanted him until that moment. And she must have felt exactly how he is feeling right now, alone, confused and wanting to talk to someone. Yannish didn’t want to talk to her then why should she want to talk to him now. He locks the phone and thrusts it back in his pocket. It’s time he got back home, Tommy might still be awake and at least he could tell someone his story.

Back To Normal

So today was a return to normality where you try to get back into the routine of waking up, getting ready, going to work and attending it for the duration of the day. For me in order to complete this process I need a routine that needs to be followed explicitly, even slightly deviating from it means I’m going to be late. So I guess, sometimes I am late. This routine involves being woken up by the Saved By The Bell theme tune at 06:45 that’s set on my mobile. A hand will squirm out of the duvet and scuttle around until it finds the mobile and presses the snooze button. The snoozing will continue until 07:00 where getting up is imperative in order to stay on time. I fling my body out of bed and make my way to the shower. That’ll take about 10 minutes in which upon my return my mobile alarm would have gone off again making it extra annoying as I start throwing my duvet and pillow all over the place trying to search it. Once that’s turned off I’ll start putting on my office armour (shirt and trousers) and then have some breakfast. I’ll arrive at work around 8:30 and start checking my emails.

Now as it stands this is going to be the routine for the rest of my working life, certainly the best years of them. It’s difficult to swallow when it’s thought of like that, it sounds restrictive without accomplishment. Going to an office for another forty or fifty years preceded by the same thing as I mentioned above almost makes me shake with fear writing it. My only solace is the imagination and ideas that frequently pop into my head. The most recent one being should I find a leprechaun and mug him of his pot of gold I’d leave England now and go somewhere hot. Maybe Oz, maybe Thailand or somewhere in South America, either way I just want to skip winter. I’d love to wake up with the heat of the sun licking my face instead of a mobile ringing out aloud in my ears. The idea of drinking a rum and coke and sitting in some place that has a view of how beautiful earth can be, really appeals to me. Then, when summer returns to England so would I. I’d visit a few people go see a few places and wait for the incessant rain to begin once more.

I guess this keeps me motivated from falling into some sort of mild depression at the thought of going to work in an office for decades upon decades. I’ll always keep an eye out for ‘the exit plan’ but for the time being and like most of us I’ll be doing my own morning ritual to get me to work on time.


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Then it started trickle down more faster as more tears appeared, so much so that they kept rolling onto his lips, allowing him to taste them. Soon his vision started to blur with the tears pouring out. He stands up and screams. He screams loud and hard, with passion. He can feel himself shaking now, he can feel the tears burst out freely. His mouth starts to dry but he doesn’t care, he can’t feel any pain when he is screaming so carries on. His body doesn’t hurt but his mind is damaged. He sucks in breath wipes his eyes quickly and then screams again.

His body tingles all over with little sharp jolts of pain so he lets himself fall on the ground. The cries are almost silent apart from the need to inhale, he can’t understand why he’s crying but he can feel pain. It’s not the little jolts circulating around his body, it’s his head. His head is hurting inside. He feels that his emotional box has been shattered and every emotion is free to go wherever it pleases confusing him. At first he thinks it’s funny what’s just happened. Going to work, getting robbed by a man with a gun, chasing him and then being questioned by the police, that’ll be a nice tale to tell. He smiles, as he imagines telling the tale to Keith today in the pub. Keith wouldn’t believe him at first but when the news came out publicly he’d be the first round his flat banging on the door demanding a more in depth version. How would Tommy react? Probably as always, with an occasional nod but an intense looking gaze letting you know although he’s in between two states of consciousness he is still fully aware of what you’re saying. Yannish almost feels what happened to him is ‘cool’ but as he turns his head round to stare at the sky he feels another wave of emotion ride over his body. What had happened to him was very serious. He was a young man, trying to achieve success in life by studying and paying his way through the present by working. Why should someone who has to work so hard be a victim of armed robbery? That’s what it is, armed robbery. A serious crime had been committed leaving a middle aged woman in a traumatised state and a young man confused. If this criminal is caught he is facing years of imprisonment. The police should consider this an extremely serious case. His life is going to change for a little while because of this. Attention will be focused on him, unwanted attention. No one of his age should have to endure the experience of feeling threatened with the termination of their life.

Yannish is now staring at the sky but not looking at anything, the seriousness of the crime is seeping into his mind causing more confliction with his emotions. It was only a few moments ago he was laughing about the whole things and now he’s starting to understand that this was the sort of thing you would read in the local if not national newspaper and think ‘shit’. Even though this feeling seems more realistic and a better description of the impact of the crime it sits uncomfortable with him and he closes his eyes as another surfaces to take control of his mind. He remembers the feeling of humiliation. He’d already felt it once already when he thought he was killed. No one had the right to kill someone else, let alone for a couple of thousand pounds stashed in a safe. This arrogant human, thinking that he had the right to end life with a gun should be caught and tortured. But why torture? He briefly thought. And then he realised that what he was feeling now was torture, his mind in utter torment and scared. He doesn’t know when he’ll feel truly safe again, he knows that his shell is hard on the exterior and that he’d be able to talk about it to friends and the authorities but inside he can feel the fear. The fear of death, the fear knowing there are people that will end life for the sake of a percentage. Something so bland as money makes them prepared to kill in order to get it. And for what? A new car? A house? And now he’s feeling a mess on the ground rolling around with the slugs and snails trying to work it all out. What about Clarence? How must she be feeling, she urinated herself during the whole ordeal, she must be a wreck. When he last saw her she shivering and silent. But Yannish can only think about settling himself down first before trying to help others.

Boring Being

Today I met probably the most boring man I’ve ever encountered. He wasn’t offensive, or irritating, he was just boring.

I was sitting in the library reading the paper when I felt someone looking at me. I peered over to see this man staring. His face was expressionless. He just looked plain. His face reminded me of the stickmen drawings I used to do at school, two little peepers and a line for a mouth.

He asked me what I was reading in a slow monotone voice. It was so slow I could guess what he was about to ask me before he even finished. I looked over at the front of the paper facing him and told him a newspaper. He incidentally was reading Cooking Basics for Dummies so decided best not to venture down that path. The boring man waited for me to speak, and in conversational etiquette it was my que to ask him something but I couldn’t be bothered. His peepers just blinked in anticipation and when he realised I wasn’t going to say anything and not wanting to lose the moment of communication that was fast diminishing he asked me what I did. I told him.

“Oh.” Was all he could say in his slow voice. I just stared and thought even his clothes were boring, a plain beige jumper with a frayed collar and grey jack-up trousers. His hair was short and, well, just uninteresting. I was completely uninspired by this guy to even share a few words so quickly returned to my paper. After reading the first few words about the rioting in Kenya it dawned on me that maybe everyone thinks he’s boring. Maybe it’s hard for him to make friends because he speaks so slow and looking so characterless that people would just walk away before he finished his sentence. Getting girls must be hard for him too, thinking of a witty comment during a moment to impress is half the job but timing and delivery is crucial and he doesn’t seem to have the tools for that. Then I thought what does he do for a living. Is he on the dole? That would explain him sitting in the library on a Thursday afternoon staring at people. Maybe he was an undercover police officer who often use the library to keep surveillance on the local brothels. If he was undercover he definitely was doing a good job. I suddenly realised that I was now intrigued by this person and wanted to find out more about him so I looked over my paper to ask him what he does but he was gone. Boring being had vanished.

He’s probably writing on his blog right now saying how he met a twat who was too aloof to speak to him.

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“Is that it?”

“Yes.”

Yannish rocked back the wooden chair and slid out. He’d never been interviewed by the police before in an interview room. He imagined he’d be questioned by an aggressive policeman who’d slam his fist on the table so that his glass of water would wobble. He was expecting the interrogator to push his face right in and invade Yannish’s personal space, so that when he spoke his saliva would sprinkle all over his face. Instead this middle aged policeman sat calmly stroking the last piece of his body that reminded him of his youth, his blond moustache.

“Aren’t you going to ask me more questions?” Said Yannish now standing next to the officer and feeling slightly that it was he who was about to do the interviewing.

“No.” Came the swift reply. The officer didn’t even look up to acknowledge him.

“This isn’t right, but I’m tired and I’m going to get some rest. You should be out there looking on the field for clues and evidence or even for him. He could still be in the woods hiding. You should be bringing in an artist so I can tell them what he looked like and so they can sketch it and we can plaster a poster all over the place and you can show it on local television, or something.”

“No, not today. Now go.”

Fuck. Thought Yannish as he walked out where another policeman was waiting for him ready to escort him to the first aid room. Yannish refused, he didn’t want to be in this building anymore. He was tricked into coming here and now he wanted to leave. The constable offered him a lift but Yannish vehemently shook his head until his neck started to hurt. He turned his back on the constable not even bothering to say good bye, nothing, and started to stride out of the building.

Even after about fifteen minutes walking down the street he was still peeved with the police. They didn’t seem to care what he told them. They should’ve been looking to lift out key information, not stroke their moustache and look out for ques when to nod. He noticed a park bench not too far away and decided to head for it. Once settled he brought out his rolling equipment from his pocket. He pulled of the rolling papers and then got the tobacco, he withdrew one paper and scooped a small amount of tobacco and started to spread it. He noticed that it was difficult to do and was missing the rolling paper. He was shaking. He looked at his right hand and he could see moving intensively but beyond the control of him. He tried to stop it but it was still moving. He used his left hand to hold it still knocking it his smoking gear all on to the ground and scatter everywhere. Still it was shaking. He began to cry, it was silent at first with a few tears pushing themselves through his eye lids and trickling down slowly.

Two Thousand And Eight

So it’s 2008, I hope 2007 proved better than expected for you. Hmm, I suppose I better think of some New Year resolutions. Let me see, the first imperfection (or character trait) I’d like to improve on is:

Tardiness

I’m late for every social meeting with people regardless of how well I plan I just don’t get to the place on time. I know it vexes people so I plan to implement a step-by-step walk-through to get me to every pre-arranged meet on time.

Get More But Decent Tunes On To My ipod

When I first got it I uploaded any tune I could get my hands on just so I could fill up the oceans of memory space I had. However after a few months I looked back one day on what was on it and almost fell off the bench I was sitting on. A cold sobering shiver ran over me as I realised there is no place in my musical life for the likes of Eminem et al. Subsequently I imposed a strict upload control vetting system that the government’s border control department would be proud of and now on my pod I have 827 tunes that create the soundtrack of my day/life. Thing is I need more of them.

Cut Down On Meat

I’m not saying I’m a rabid carnivore who hunts bunny rabbits for food. I just feel like I eat quite a lot of meat. In fact I think the majority of people do. I look upon in jealousy at the vegetarians I know who easily go through their day with out any of it whereas I can only think about meat based dishes when thinking about food.

Get Buff

Yep, I too have enlarged due to the Christmas festivities. The amount of cheese and biscuits I consumed were the main perpetrators. I’m not a rotund gent but the life long quest of all men to reach the holy grail of a six-pack is well out of the question at the moment. Not sure if I want to join a gym full of muscle men in weird multicoloured baggy trousers so I think I’ll stick to playing sports and the occasional push up. Really I just want to look good naked and if I manage that then…

Go To Another Continent

I fancy visiting another continent for my holiday this year. I find seeing another cultures in full working flow really mind blowing. To me it’s like being shown how to live life in another way. Due to listening to Brand on Radio 2 I’m quite intrigued to visit Marrakech in Morocco.

Go To Noel Fielding’s Art Exhibition

Well this is a short term goal but I must remember to go to his art exhibition in London which I think runs till the beginning of March. If not I’ll regret it and kick something in frustration and end up hurting my toe.

I think that’s enough for the moment. I’m sure I’ll forget them all in my mind but at least I have it here on record should I wonder what they are. In other events I got In A Safe Place by The Album Leaf. If you’re into or remotely interested in chilled electronica then I strongly recommend it (click here and scroll down to listen to some samples).





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Yannish broke from his thoughts and looked up and then pushed his face against the railings. He found a gap where he could see the officer driving.

“I’m seriously not the robber. I’m not joking, I’m not him. Look at me, do I look like someone capable of holding up a garage with a gun?” He yells in exasperation with saliva spluttering from his mouth all over the officer’s shoulder.

“Perhaps. But you are certainly in a position to help a robber.” Came the cold reply of the officer.

Yannish felt like spitting on the policeman but didn’t want to aggravate the situation. The officer was young maybe three or four years older than him. He probably thought he caught the criminal and managed to cleverly trick him into the police car. Yannish didn’t want to think or fight any more, he flung himself back and deliberately rested his feet on the back seat and closed his eyes to get some rest before his inevitable interrogation.

He found himself in a damp smelling room. It was grey coloured but dirt marks could be seen all over it, even on the ceiling. He was on a chair, it was a wooden one, nothing fancy and a little wobbly. In front of him was a table which had one of its sides against the wall where a recording machine was set. In front of him was an officer a lot older than the one who’d brought him in. He still had his hat on and looked rather calm and not the intimidating monster he was expecting. He kept stroking his moustache and watching Yannish.

The interrogating was thin, in fact Yannish didn’t feel interrogated at all. They asked him questions and he answered them. They didn’t follow anything up.

“What did you do today?”

“I had my last exam, went to the pub to celebrate then went home and then went to work.”

“Was there anything odd you noticed about the building, certain electrics that weren’t working?”

“No everything seemed fine. The only thing not similar to the usually shift was that Clarence was working tonight.”

“I see. Do you think she had anything to do with the robbery?”

“No, of course not.”

“What happened when you were being robbed?”

“A man entered while I was at the counter, he didn’t look strange but he brought in an aura of distrust so I kept my eye on him. He then walked out of sight I walked over and then he pulled a gun out on me and Clarence. We took him to the safe and he blasted it open.”

“And then what happened?”

“He left, I thought I had just been killed but hadn’t. I was enraged so decided to chase him. I after him all across the field above the garage and then he entered the woods, I followed and I was struck by something hard that knocked me out.”

“Do you know what he looked like?”

“I didn’t see his face he wore a clown’s mask. But he had brown hair that went just past his ears. You see that stuck out from the clown’s mask. And when he got close he stared directly at me. It was strange, like he was jealous of me or something. I just saw him, he had blue eyes, large blue eyes. And as soon as he could tell I was scanning his features he pulled himself away. He was a bit taller than me so I’d say about just under 6 foot, he wore a what looked like a beige suede jacket and jeans. That’s all I can remember right now.”

“Thank Yannish. We will contact you further if we require you, now please follow the directions to the first aid room.”