::Heavy breaths accompany heavy steps down the streets of New York City. The viewers see the world through the eyes of it's beholder, whoever they may be. The charge stops, the gender of this walking mystery identified as male by a strong grunt and the quick swing of his point of view. Through irritation he releases an animal-like growl, picking up speed again, drawing closer and closer to the approaching curb. The crossing sign clearly flashes the silhouette of a red hand. Cars pass by in a stampede but the man does not stop. One foot leaves the curb and touches the tar, then the other. He seems home free but the sound of horns and screeching brakes shatter all hope. The premonition of a head-on collision forces his body to lunge to the right but only after a passing segment of contemplation. Eyes turn to the driver, female, age thirty-four, hair the shade of blonde that can only be purchased off a drug store shelf, but the most attractive feature? The fear.::

::It was like an optical lap dance from one of them high-end whores "Working their ways through college". The contracting of her cheeks, each one white as the faux-leather jacket she wore. Jaw wedged open by the future visions of what could have been. Of how she could have taken a life. He thought about the things he could do to that jaw. Caress it, kiss it, love it......rip it off and use it as an ash tray! He lunged forward smacking his hand down on the hood of her cutsey little pink sportscar.::

???: RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

::A primal roar rocked the windshield. He crawled up on the hood with his arm strength, looking himself in the eyes at his reflection but looking through them to the fearful office harlot. He hurdles from the car giving the viewers enough time to see his midnight black hair that appeared to have been formed from days of just waking up, or just days of not going to sleep at all. The wildman flees the street down another just in time to escape the men who left their trucks to protect the helpless lady. Typical big men, more testosterone than brains. Mmmmmm brains. How would their brains taste, he wondered?::

::The hunger builds with another growl as he enters the clearing of a parking lot. The empty spaces aren't enough to arouse his sense of wonder but the building rose on the other side was for sure.::

???: Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!

::With each "Yeah!" his speed increases. White lines whip past with the closing distance. He reaches the front door and slams into it at full force. He's sent back by the impact, the door still in one piece. He yells at it with the strain on his face visible by his reflection. He shakes his head side to side with speeds that would injure the normal spine and plunges a stuttering hand into his pocket. He pulls a key out of it and grips the door handle like a lifelong enemy, nervously scratching the outside of the keyhole before unlocking it, letting himself in. The man looks back and forth, then runs down the hall to his left.::

???: Come on! Come on! ::His tone changes from savage to a laugh with each word straining and cracking like he was choking on them:: I just wanna find where the big boys play!

::He slows down and looks to the door at the end of the hallway marked Frankie Manning.::

???: Bingo! HAHAHA!

::He forces the door open and walks in with the ease of a hunting wildcat. The man makes his way to the desk and pulls from his pocket a piece of paper and unfolds it. He goes to place it on the desk then stops, turning to the television inside the office and spitting his gum onto the screen. He smashes the paper onto it allowing the viewers to read the message in black marker.::

Note: AUGUST 30TH! BE AFRAID! D.H.

::The view stays on the note with enough time to read the poorly written note. It's pulled away to the man behind it who grabs the outside and pulls it closer so only his unruly beard and scowl can be seen.::

"D.H.": I'M COMIN' FOR YA! A-HA-HA-HA!

::He throws the camera sending it smashing to the floor and ending the footage.::