I do apologize for not keeping my end of the promise and posting the surprise I would. I've been too depressed with the stock market rally and losing money to really care and I don't blog at home.
The Dark Knight is WOW.
Here's the surprise it's a short story I've written. Besides the dark theme it's relation to Batman lies in the fact that my stupid ass thought Christian Bale was in the clip that inspired the story.
The handsome man in the black suit walked out of the grandiose ranch with poise cautiously checking his exit steps, making sure to not leave a trail of blood or a clue to his existence. The scene eerily seemed like a reenactment of the ending of No Country for Old Men, where Anton Chigurh checked his boots just after he killed Llewellyn Moss’ wife. He strode confidently to his waiting car a topless black 1958 Chevy Corvette. With his keys in his hand you could hear the heels of his Allen-Edmonds dress shoes hitting the ground as he finally reached his car. The glossy black paint with water droplets shone under the moonlight as he pulled the door open exposing the plush red leather with black piping. The Corvette was meticulously rebuilt it looked as though it just rolled off the production line. He took off his suit jacket and laid it on the passenger seat as he had turned the ignition, the low key rumble had briefly interrupted the night’s slumber. As he put the car in gear and began to drive off into the night, Dionne Warrick’s cover of Anyone Who Has a Heart began to take over the man’s eardrums. In a twisted sadistic way, jazz and classic rhythm and blues calmed him after a hit it made him feel slightly tranquil. The night roads were open and slick with rain allowing him the luxury to test all 270 horses and the three speed manual. The open air, breezy 79 degree summer night caused his long black mane to flow in the wind and his black tie to flutter. No he wasn’t going to another hit, he was returning to the one woman who showered him with unbelievable affection. It’s hard to understand why he wears what he does, or even does what he does but in some twist of fate he’s actually good at it. It’s hard to imagine a hit man that cares as much about his appearance as he does, very few professionals could even afford a Ralph Lauren Black Label suit, yet a black one is his main staple. Add on a white dress shirt with French cuffs and a skinny black tie you’d have the perfect example of an extra from a 1990’s Quentin Tarrantino movie. Ironically the man goes by Black; it’s hard to say why although you certainly wouldn’t want to question him. Another thing about him is he’s the quiet type; he observes and listens but for those who have had the misfortune to hear him speak would agree that he speaks eloquently although with a broken English accent. The needle on the speedometer began to creep up past fifty MPH, the transmission was full of life on the third gear and the wheels turned into a dream of black rubber and chrome surrounded by a cloud of white. The empty road provided a place of solitude for him; he contemplated and gathered his thoughts as his exit was approaching. As he pulled into the driveway of his beachfront house, he noticed all the lights were out, causing him to take more caution as he entered the property. He stealthily entered the bedroom where his girlfriend was in a deep slumber. He leaned over to kiss her forehead and delicately sat down on the edge of the bed. She started to rise from the bed and began to kiss him passionately as though they were lovers separated by a war. But they were at war, a war she knew nothing about and a war he wished didn’t exist. Black noticed a calling card for him tucked on the edge of a mirror, an Ace of Spades. He kissed her back but knew he had to depart, the last few shreds of humanity in him felt guilty to tear apart the beautiful woman who let him into her heart. The Ace of Spades was the calling card of a new job, a new obituary, a new cemetery plot, casket order, gravesite and a devastated broken family. He gave her that look that said he had to go, she kept clutching him, not wanting him to go, hoping for him to stay. He couldn’t look her way as he pulled away and left. It’s not easy being Black.
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