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My body was on strike when I woke up the next morning. While I slumbered my muscles had gotten together and decided to never move again. I just wish they'd told me before I tried to move. I thought I'd developed an accurate concept of pain the past week, what with being shot and knocked around by a variety of villains. But I was a novice at pain. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, wishing I didn't have to get up, wishing I had no life, no rally, no nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and try not to move.
Instead I inched toward the edge of the bed, wondering what had happened to my peaceful existence in one short week. I accidentally turn down the wrong street and suddenly my life is filled with spies, murderous policemen, younger men, older men…all interested in a skinny au
