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Suddenly the steering jerks and the tire pressure warning goes off. Shit, they’ve probably hit a tire with a round. The car remains surprisingly stable but I decide I have to leave it nonetheless. I haven’t managed to shake them with four good tires, so I certainly won’t manage to do it with three. I slam the brakes, get out of the car and run. I just run. There are some trees around me, but not enough to really hide me. I don’t look back. I barely look where I’m running. I just run like hell.The bark of a tree on me right explodes into a cloud of splinters but I don’t care in the least. I run for my very life. I don’t even know how many of them are chasing me. Escorts Kew? Two, probably. That’s what they always show in the movies. No, the cops come in twos. The killers are always alone. Does it matter? No. But a surprisingly lot of stuff goes through my mind during these supposedly last seconds of a life I’ve thoroughly enjoyed so far. Well, it’s been good. That’s the phrase that probably describes everything best. Always stick to the classics if in doubt. And it’s sad that this good life has to come to such a sudden end at the ripe age of 29.The thing is – oops, I have to watch this root – I’ve kind of won the big lottery of life. Although it might not look like that today. Caution, mud puddle, jump over it. I’m quite good looking. I personally don’t think so as I generally don’t appreciate the looks of men, including myself. But the part of the female population that fancies me has assured me so. And I don’t care much about the opinion of the other part.A fork in the path. Okay, the left one. Why not? I don’t know where I am anyway. It’s not important where I run to. It’s important to keep doing it. And I do this whole running thing more out of habit to prolong my life as much as possible than out of hope that it might save me somehow. The battery of my mobile phone is dead. The number of cops in sight is – wait, I have to count – zero. Which, by coincidence, matches the total number of people in sight. I’m unarmed, not trained in any kind of martial arts, I’ve never been near a marine, a green beret, a navy Escorts Kew or anything like it. I’m more some kind of peaceful, non-confrontational guy. Oops, I better run on that grass, the path seems dangerously muddy and slippery. So, I’m toast. I’m chased by a professional killer. And I’m just an unarmed, unskilled guy spoiled by a sheltered life. My only fight was with Timmy Burns at the age of eleven. And I’ve lost it. So they would probably kill me even if they went out of ammunition.

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Spoiled? Definitely. Rich from the moment I had joined humanity. Heir of old money. Intelligent enough to finish an ivy league college without ever having the intention to actually work as a lawyer. Living a life of luxury, busy with meaningless stuff, never contributing anything to humankind. Apart from just being there. Blocking resources that would have better been invested in more ambitioned people. That’s what it boils down to, old guy. You’re just superfluous. No kids, no responsibility for anything. You’re a money-losing business for humanity. I’ve never seen this, somehow. I was just too busy being me. Driving around in fancy cars, chasing pretty women, living in nice houses, traveling. But now, running down a muddy path somewhere in the South, it seems quite obvious. It strongly looks like mankind will manage to survive without my presence. No one will give a shit, to be more precise. The insight is quite disillusioning. And it seems a little late to change my life now.But one thing might be to my advantage. I’ve always been good at sports and I’ve been running a lot. I think I’ve maintained a good pace so far. I can’t hear anybody behind me any more and even the shots have stopped. Escorts Kew, I’ll take the left path again. So I might have been able to put a little distance between me and the killer. Or the group of killers. As far as I know, there might be as many as twenty guys chasing me. I have to chuckle as I envision a group of black-clad guys with sunglasses stumbling down this damn path. But seriously, not more than five self-respecting killers would have entered that shitty sedan.It is at least consoling that I won’t die as clueless as I have lived. By now I have a strong idea who might want to see me dead and why. Being in this somewhat inconvenient situation is partly my own fault.The path leads me around a bend and suddenly I’m in some kind of clearing. It looks like a trailer park. About fifteen trailers seem to be scattered across the clearing in what looks like a totally random pattern. Not two of them seem to be aligned parallel to each other. The positions are equally haphazard. They look like some toys, dropped here by an enormous child. Everything seems to be silent, not a single human being is in sight. Most of the trailers sport some weird decoration. Chains of lights, colored lamps, everything that might give the place a gaudy and cheap look is present. In it’s own tastelessness, the place is very consistent.Well, I can’t be picky, can I? I rush to the nearest one of the luxurious residences, omitting the one with the “Jesus loves you” sticker, which seems somehow inappropriate, given the circumstances. I frantically pound on the door of my chosen potential refuge.

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