daily sun wheaton

Ben�ran his finger tip--pressed pink�against the paper--harshly downwards, saying to Rory,

"everything you do to one side you do to the other. Youapos;ve got to fold it like you mean it."

The breeze was strong today--and with a little skill, you could easily throw a paper airplane twenty yards
across the interstate--where cars whizzed by like bullets beneath spectatorapos;s feet.

"Iapos;m going to aim for a windshield," Rory sneered impishly
Rory had built a dart plane--known for itapos;s precise strafe.

Ben, who was a little less of a hellian, quietly disapproved and continued working on his plane--a glider.


Rory leaned over the wall and threw his plane, as if he were Zeus himself; hurling a lightning bolt down to Earth.
It connected--with a smack--�like a bullet, dead-center into the windshield of a humongous truck, barreling down the highway
like a freight train.

The driver was a thirty-six year old man named Edward--only most people called him "Ed," or "Big Red Ed,"
on the count of his temper, and how itapos;d cause him to turn red--bright red, like a fire engine, lighting his bright yellow
eyebrows, mustache and beard up like fireworks; a large, coiling vein pertruding from his brow.

"Leapinapos; Christ" Ed screamed, thinking the destroyed aircraft in front of him was in fact a squashed pigeon,
he jammed on the breaks and tugged on the wheel, setting the vehicle into a careening fishtail.

"Oh, shit" Rory squealed, bringing his hands over his mouth, realizing what heapos;d done.

Ben watched as Edapos;s truck slammed into the side of an milk-mobile--before being reemed by another car behind him.
There followed a cacophonous din of�screeching tires, shattered glass, and blaring horns loud enough to shatter your ear drums.

�

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