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Left4dead 2 ellisNot knowin where the next attack is comin from
our rifles n' axes gleamin blood
with each an every evil sin done
we were sleepin ta geather one night
in a dingy room with'n no light or air
for the ones we be hidin from
where most surely lumin outside
it was coaches turn ta be guardin the door
"i'll watch the door you guys get some rest."
floor four is were we were be'n waited for
infected screams echoin down the hall
so we stoped above it n hopes of bein safe once more
nick jumped at every sound, goin so far as ta shoot wildly
rochelle's tears slipped down her face, here she could spare no grace
as everyone settled, i alone stayed awake jus' ta keep coach company
"i'll keep ya'll compny, coach."
I wish, no i should have,
know'n we were all to tired
know'n that the building wasn't safe
not let my guard down
jus' cuz coach was guardin the door.
a man i trusted with my'n life is still jus' a man in the end
an soon we were all snoozin not aware of anyin
" Hey, over alls you here that?"
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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