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A DULL splat! on the sidewalk beside his head roused Benny 7-11 from a short sleep. His one good eye opened slowly, the other swollen shut from lack of medical attention. A wet, brown streak stained the pavement inches from his face and the smell woke him fully before another plop! hit the ground, this one in danger of splashing into his mouth. Forgetting his injury, Benny propped himself up on his broken finger, pain shooting through the newly set splint.
“Son of a b***h,” Benny growled, grinding his teeth. He scrambled out of the layer of blankets, searching for his shoes. Finding them under the pile of jackets acting as his pillow, he hurled one at the Sunset bridge over Silver Lake Boulevard. The sole of the shoe caught Danny Ambush squarely in the nose as he popped over
