Fog Bastards 1 Intention by Bill Robinson Page B

nearby molecules, and I slow to a nice gentle speed. I try something I have never tried before. I close my eyes and listen to myself breathe. Not a dangerous thing for me, but every building and window in a 100 mile radius has just called it's insurance agent to make sure it's covered against acts of dumbasses.
     
     
I don't reach for the hand, I don't do anything except try to be part of the sky and breathe in, breathe out. The light sneaks out, stands on my forecastle, spreads it's arms and yells it's the king of the world, or something to that effect. Without opening my eyes I push hard against the air molecules, and accelerate to at least a couple hundred knots.
     
     
Hard right turn. Don't know why, but I do know how. Climb. Bank. (And I don't mean I'm about to fly into one). Open my eyes, and I have navigated through downtown without even looking. I do a loop. Hard vertical, over on my back, and accelerate slightly downward and back toward the buildings. The feeling of being watched is upon me. I hope Fog Dude is pleased. Actually, I want to hurt him for not calling me a dumbass sooner.
     
     
But I don't care. In, out and around. I have control. I have velocity. I can grab a quarter off the roof of Bank of California and deposit it at Bank of America tower without slowing down.
     
     
More molecules bite the dust and I am headed at high speed into the desert toward my Twin Towers. I buzz them, near to the speed of sound, follow my track back across the mountains. Zoom by Magic Mountain with a quick raspberry aimed at the Superman ride. North, feeling like I actually could go to Alaska, across the Valley, out into the ocean, and back down to Santa Monica.
     
     
Not wanting to stop, I blast back toward downtown and settle in on top of BofA. The light thinks something fun is coming, and before it can complain or hide, I grab it and squeeze. I am me. Then, instead of putting it away, I start again. "Dumbass" works, so full of intention this time I can feel it. The spreading power is so strong I nearly explode, and I do mean in a sexual way.
     
     
Bare feet sacrifice bare molecules, and I am playing tag across the tops of buildings until it's time to go. I twist toward the coast and push, not really caring exactly where I end up. I'm over Laguna when I reach the water, drop to a few feet over the surface and push hard northward. Doesn't take long and I see the pier and Santa Monica Boulevard. Quick zip inland, and I am standing in filth behind Ralph's (in California that's a grocery store, not some loser's house).
     
     
I can't turn back into me, my clothes are too big, but I pause to use the most disgusting restroom I know for it's intended purpose. I hadn't tried passing water through the salami, but I find it works normally. I was concerned that the stream might be fast enough to shatter the ancient relic that serves as a urinal and that would take some splaining to the manager. "I didn't get super cold breathe, but I did get super strong urine." Wouldn't have surprised me, but no such luck.
     
     
I walk back out to Starbuck, start him up, when I am accosted by a storm of red flashing lights on both sides. My inner light screams at me, "dumbass" I am sure in light language, and I quickly squeeze him down into nothing. When the three cops get to me, guns drawn, I am me, not him. When I see the guns, it occurs to me that maybe I should have stayed him.
     
     
"Out of the car. Keep your hands where we can see them."
     
     
I slowly open the door and step out. Four cops, the staff of Ralph's, three homeless and two customers are watching me. My pants are on the ground around my ankles. I suspect that, as a suspect for God knows what, I do look like a dumbass.
     
     
"Turn around, put your hands on the hood."
     
     
I comply. A large, ugly, hairy Santa Monica PD officer pats me down. He might actually have been none of the above, because I can't see him from behind, but still....
     
     
"Show me some