Anyway, this bunch of assholes ended up being victims of my sour mood because they happened to be here. Not because I followed Brandon like a creepy stalker or anything equally stupid. Okay, maybe I did, but it was only for two blocks. Maybe three. Fine. Five. But none of that matters. The fact that I get to decorate my hand with their deplorable blood does. Fucker who caught Brandon by the shirt is now spluttering blood on the ground, half conscious, while I humble his friends.
