The sign said Leave Your Weapons at the Door. The hip hop concert was packed. Marlon got patted down needlessly. He saw a pile a guns and knives near the entrance. The noise inside was deafening. Too much loud talking.
Marlon hated hip hop. It killed soul music. None of them knew who Otis, Jackie, Marvin, Sam, Carla, Isaac and Jerry were. Fools. Ignorant fools.
Tonight he would strike a bloww against this nonsense that was supposed to be music. This toxic sluge of bad poetry.
Marlon took deep breaths and clenched his stomach muscles. He had eaten four large tacos before arriving. He was ready. His timing was perfect. His weapon undetectable.
He unclenched his buttocks and let loose, one after the other.
Screams, pushing, panic. Choking. Chaos.
Vengeance is mine! he shouted.
Taco revenge.
The perfect crime. Long live James Brown!
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