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DARK HORSE
I was walking down a street in Manchester the other day (which shall remain unnamed). It was like any other day. I'd woken up. Gotten up. Brushed my teeth. Paired my socks and then left the house. It was slightly sunny, which was unusual, as Manchester is the only city in Britain that's permanently followed around by a black cloud. I really should have seen what happened next coming, but I didn't. I crossed the road, and was followed by some school kids in what looked like uniforms. My ears pricked up, and I quickened my pace. In my head,two phrases were colliding into each other "Shit! I'm being followed!" and "Maybe I shouldn't have drunk that pint of milk before I left. In retrospect, it did smell a bit funny". Maybe it was the mixture of fear and adrenaline, or maybe just the bad milk, I don"t know. But what I do know is that from that moment onwards, everything played out before me like a Quentin Tarrentino movie. The blood pumping through my veins, my heart pounding, my stomach rumbling (got to be the milk) and my eyes flicking from side to side. I heard one of them whisper to the other in terrifying pre-pubescent tones "Let's spit on the student!" I spun round, eyes ablaze, ready to face the opposition. They stopped dead. I raised my hands, ready to get all Bruce Lee on them. Then I stopped. Clutched my stomach. "Alas!," I thought, "they got me. Got me good" Then I was sick. All over the pavement. It had definitely been the milk.
The Hoarsemeister wants your comments people, being an uninspired and penniless student means that we practically have to beat his articles out of him (or buy him many many bags of twigglets) Leave them on t'boards under 'Dark Horse'.
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