He swore to me no one would get hurt; no one that didn’t deserve it at least. My high school classmates were all locked into the gym where a half dozen terrorists were holding them hostage as part of some cruel plan that was unknown to me. All I needed to do was rappel down a nylon rope into the center court, firing my M-16 as I went, picking off the individual bad guys before I hit the boards, and everything would be fine. In fact, better than fine. All those creeps who treated me like crap would suddenly see me as a hero. I’d have saved their lives, and they'd feel really bad about shoving me and calling me names and trying to trick me into saying something stupid; not to mention the chicks who would never have given me more than a sneer until I pulled them from this burning gates of hell. Man, 20 minutes of shootemup and all my problems would be solved, plus I’d finally get laid a few times before I’m 30!
“Mister Runeborg? Would you please read the first paragraph of page 17 aloud?”
made a mental note to put some daydream gloves into my daydream
backpack before I stepped back into the real world for a momentary
diversion. I didn’t want any imaginary rope burns on my hands if I was
gonna get imaginary booty!