He rose early this morning. The mist before his face carried the scent of impending doom.”What if the plan doesn’t succeed?”, he pondered. Teeth. Breakfast. Coffee. Smokes. Teeth again, and he was off, over the balcony. Ten feet down. An hour and a half later he was at the wooded clearing he had so carefully chosen one week before. “Why did I brush my teeth?”, he thought. He waited. Bad to be early. The cold air bit at his nose. He waited. No way to turn back now. The wheels had already begun turning. Quicker than he thought they would.
He smoked. Wary of his cigarette supply. Low. High noon.
He began to move again. Due East. “Was the compass correct?” No time for thoughts like that. A stream. Was he lost? “This was not on the map”, he whined to himself. A slippery rock almost spelled failure for the plan. No such luck. He was agile. Hurrying now. Branches made desperate tries at blinding him.
No such luck.
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