…
would feel bad. Maybe. Except that nothing really matters anymore.
…
move your chair hoping they hit you next time … so you can call in dead to
work.
…
calculate the knife’s trajectory from the angle and the depth that it sank in
the wall, and promptly throw it back and yell “crime doesn’t pay!”
…
ponder the value of a humble throwing knife … still a good weapon … even in
the twentieth century. My goodness … isn’t that a
Pearl
handled riverboat bowie with a Monel guard? Then you pocket the knife and try not to let
it spoil your good mood.
…
chant your usual catch phrase … “When there's no justice … someone has to take
things into their own hands”. Snatch the knife from the wall and stalk toward
the bushes to even the score.
…
decide that the only way to keep crime off the streets is to start at home and
so you shoot a round of ammo in the knife thrower's general direction for
safety's sake, and leave without your breakfast.
…
gripe about how you just painted that wall and inform your henchmen that you
have just lost your appetite and somebody is going to pay for that! … Someone
will pay!
…
begin to cry incessantly then start singing a song … where everyone joins in.
…
adjust your petticoat musing about the newly installed pearl handled hat rack
on the wall placing your bonnet on the protrusion.
…
add the knife to your collection of sharp pointy objects and consider yourself
lucky.