He looked at his watch. He knew how much time he had. But it wasn’t entirely in his hands. “They” had to do it. He was just the transporter. He liked calling himself the transporter. True he wasn’t half as cool as Jason Statham, though he knew for sure that he had lot more hair than Statham could ever dream of. Well apparently they have these new hair transplantation thingies where you can grow your mane again. If Statham went for that, he would edge out this transporter in the only area where he was superior.
He looked at his watch again. Damn! It was almost time. What on earth were they doing? But he didn’t have the power or the authority to ask them anything. He was just the transporter. He got the package and was told the drop point. And he, well transported.
Another glance at the watch. Another sigh of exasperation. Are these people competing with a snail, he wondered. The recipients wouldn’t care whose fault it was. He can take the yelling, but what if they refuse to make the payment. The higher-up bosses will certainly catch his throat. No one would care enough to find out that he had got the package late!
Before he could sneak another look at the watch, they handed him the package. He rushed out. He had very little time left. He kick started his bike and raced away. There was a fair amount of traffic on the road. He expertly whizzed past it all. He knew he was riding faster than he normally is comfortable doing, but desperate times call for over-speeding. He chuckled at the quote he had come up with. “Desperate times call for over-speeding” was cool. Wonder if Statham could ever come up with something like that.
He realized he was almost there, as he looked at his watch. He took the last turn before his destination. Maybe he would make it just in the nick of time. That was the last thought that crossed his mind as he rammed into a parked van. He had taken his hand off the handle and his sight off the road to see the time, as he turned the corner, and had not seen the van parked there.
.jpe)
