I’m waiting at the bus stop in front of my school, which falls in the middle of a long, straight stretch of road. The road curves before going straight, so you see cars coming ’round the bend, and then it’s smooth, straight sailing from there.

An old red car rounds the curve – it’s going straight, but then around the bus stop it begins to swerve.

I’ve always been worried I’ll be hit by a car, so I start planning in my head: who can I use as a human shield against a car? How fast can I get behind that bench? Who here could maybe stop the bleeding?

It’s maybe thirty, forty metres from the bus stop. The car swerves and runs up onto the wide sidewalk. Someone gets out – it’s too far away for me to tell exactly how old, but he is definitely a Caucasian male. Maybe twenty, thirty? He walks to the back of his car and opens the trunk.

Wait, what the hell?

He pulls out a large duffle bag, slams the car, and begins jogging towards us, the empty car still running and on the sidewalk.

Shit. Shit, it’s the next highschool shoot-up. Who can I use as a human shield against a bullet? That guy looks tall. Oh, but he’s skinny… oh well, so am I. Where can I hide from here!?

Now, he takes a swift turn to his right.

Oh god, he’s going to kill the kids still writing their English midterms.

And I see the logo on the other side of his bag. It reads:

Domino’s Pizza.

&xx

Shut up, I know I’m a paranoid freak.