Nicky turned and bolted. He’d only had about a thirty foot head start and a few were closing ground on him quickly. He cursed his hundred-dollar shoes and his vanity. The shoes looked great, but were definitely not made for running, nor was the suit he was wearing. He vowed that if he made it out of there alive, he’d only wear sneakers and track suits for the rest of his days. Of course, I’ll probably be laughed out of the mob, but I don’t care at this point.
~ Ian Mcclellan
