Leaping up, I snapped a kick out, the spiked heel of my shoe struck his head just above his nose. He staggered back, still holding the coffees in his ...ands.I ran toward him again jumping but directing my kick to his chest. The heel struck his sternum, he crashed to the ground, his hands spasmed as he did crushing the Styrofoam cups. Standing over him, I gazed at him, eyes rolled around trying to focus. I kicked again, driving the heel of my boot deep inside his chest. The blood gushed for a. As Doug and I sit for a meal or two, on the large dining table, where we await for our food to be served by his obliging and obedient house keeper, I look at him quietly and shyly somehow a little bit. His eyes are intense and serious and frightful in some way, and he has them fixed and glued straight on me. I don't know what the hell is exactly going on in his mind. I am not a mind reader. And I only wish that I had that divine ability and power to unravel out what goes on in people's. More

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