The Original "Gangsta" Al Capone

Gun shots rang out across the cobbled road of down town New York. In a plume of smoke emerged a figure. It was a man with a blood soaked suit kept closed by a regal tie. Looking at his feet with a sneer that scared your retinas, was a torn and whimpering officer. That officer was an animal soon to be road kill and the figure was a car that would smash the life into the cold pavement. The figure was a harbinger of death; his cold and calculating eyes were a tinted window to the dinning room of hell. Under his eyes rested a battlefield of wrinkle He stuck like a vulture, without guilt or remorse. On lookers screamed when the body dropped with a thud. With his bestial snout of a nose he sniffed the air like a bloodhound. Cocking his head, he and everyone else heard a sound. Sirens the police were comming! Yellow decaying teeth, filed to sharp points, shined as the figure smiled and brought up a gun to rest, perched like an old pirates parrot, on his shoulder. There are three choices the figure could make: run, surrender, or die fighting. Possessed by some unimaginable ferocity, the figure was a cornered badger, he fired round after round into the crowd of police. Bleeding profusely the figure stumbled to his knees like the last flickers of life in a fire moments before its extinguished he sighed, and for the first time seemed at peace.