He had a history of karate kicks. Karate kicks were in his past as far back as anyone could remember. They joked that he kicked the shit out of his mother when he was in the womb. They said that he smashed the doctor's nose and shattered his front teeth with a fierce kick when he was being birthed. They said that when the doctor reflexively threw the little son of a bitch clear across the hospital room, he landed on his head. This legend explained everything.

He was a bus driver. Sometimes he would karate kick the morning commuters when they got on his bus. This earned him warnings and assignments to alternative bus routes. (It was a government job so it was difficult to fire him.) Before he drove buses and kicked the shit out of his passengers, he was a grocery store clerk who kicked the shit out of groceries. Sometimes he karate kicked watermelons and summer squash. He was fired because it was a corporate job, and his propensity for kicking made him a frightening liability. He practiced his kicks in public places such as I have described here -- uncomfortable places to kick -- but he also practiced at home. Home was sparse. There was a television and a VCR for watching the Kung Fu tapes he sometimes bought at the flea market. There was a punching bag for kicking and a mattress for sleeping. There was a simple kitchen where he made simple meals.

He hoped that one day the CIA would hear about him and invite him to their headquarters in Langley, Virginia, to receive special training to be a Kung Fu assassin. His face was as long and terrible as his legs were strong.


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