The flight of the clown from room 101.

Dodging verbal bullets.Aimless shells riccocheting of the barrier of my cerebral mantle.

There's an unwieldy lapse,as the tyrant giant,pauses and reloads.Stammers into neutral.Releasing the clutch.Hammering back into the unilateral battle.

The accusations dampened with spittle and unclod deficiency.As I wipe the drizzle,I can see his tempestuous hurricane eye.Gazing down.Locking and loading dismay into my dewy eyes.

Our eyes meet for the first time.We glance at the wall together.He drops his head as if in defeat.He walks toward the door.I notice a hand about to strike.A receptive clamor rings in my ears.He speaks with contempted restraint.Mr Taylor,its lunchtime,please arise.