"Bang!" rang out the shot from Al's gun, the acoustical crackings ringing in his ears. The babbles and screams from another victim of his itchy trigger finger would haunt him for the rest of his days. Just this morning, he had been an Australian aboriginal who had recently moved to New Orleans. The amplitude of his problems he had never known for a day in his life before this.
The crookedness of the evil men who wished to enter the bank and take Al's life was apparent, but who they were and where they were from was confidential. He couldn't adduce to himself what the bag in the back of the room was, but to figure out what was going on, he was going to have to stay close-lipped with the rest of the room's occupants. Mary was a local from the other side of town; a dealer and expert on art. She wore a blue old west-style dress and had her brown hair under a tiny red cap. Adjunct to the rest of the room was John, an ardent businessman who sells bridles for horses. Among those who were minus fortitude were John, a timid character dressed in brown and blue and Boss, an outlaw who was apprehended during the beginning of the siege.
"It's the age to abandon our preconceptions about life," said John, buzzing about the back room, peering through the aperture which through he could see Al ducked behind a desk, attempting to defend the room's occupants from the force trying to get through. He actuated the cover of the aperture, causing it to fall down over the hole. Agriculture and horse-tending were all he'd known through his life and his family business. The bank account containing the essential funds for his family's farm supply company had been at this bank for 25 years. The animation in his movements seemed quite unnatural to Mary. She had come to cash a check from her uncle, and wanted to use it to buy conductive materials. The apparatuses in the middle of the room were operated by a small calico cat, which had at the time had been thinking abstract thoughts about fishing. The blankets that the cat slept on were its only means of contraception.
The AC kicked on. Amidst all the gunfire outside, a caress slyly ran up John's leg. "This dumb bunny covets my love. I will take her to the border and have my way with her as soon as possible." He thought of the turban he wore as a boy and began to hum the lyrics to his favorite song. Four bridles he sold earlier this morning, before this the sale of an additional bridle was an absolute. Whoever assembled this lot outside would be tough to beat.
The last of the gunmen outside fell. They were safe for now.
John thought of his other business prospects, now that the immediate danger was over. A brand from Asia additionally offered bridles in this area, but the Afghans may come down in price and beat both of them. Mary was now sitting atop his legs and giving him sweet kisses from her exceptional lips. The aquamarine jewel on her necklace was shining in the light. Her loving arms were like an afflicted amphibious aircraft carrier. The wife would never forgive him, and he knew one day he would face the wrath of the Abyssinian.
Richard knew he had been absolutely betrayed. He was known as the "Short Man" to his friends and confidants. A hat salesman by trade, he had deluged himself in the underworld, making departures from his primary municipal employment. Windows boys harassed him constantly for his lack of height. Additionally, he had taken oversized shipments of guns barbarously whilst abiding the laws of the underworld. His achromatic rants against the American government gained him much scorn and he soon became wanted as an adult. Additionally, as a token of respect the amphibians that ruled the underworld would address him as "my Abyssinian."
Richard Robbins: the "Short Man," the "Abyssinian." He could hardly believe the titles he'd been given. He was from Melange in Ohio, Where the saliva dribbles out of your mouth at the sheer audacity and adaptability of the residents.
He was on his way to his superiors to do some cannabis analysis. His dad was a drug dealer, and he had started adhering to his ways from an early age. There was a girl standing at the door and he entered with her permission. She was a young lady of 17; a hobbyist athlete. Her features were most ample. An abstemious accrual of DTP permeated her beefy skin. The chicken-lips she had been born with were most succulent with their protrusions.
They walked into the room. How he wished he was back in the great outdoors in Ohio. To affiliate with these sort of people was unseemly for a hat salesman, but he did what he need to survive. He needed binoculars to see the end of the room, but there sat the one man who could absolve him of his guilt. His adrenaline kicked in as the shadowy figure appeared. Ages ago, people who thought less of him made an early departure from the world. "Welcome, Abyssinian." The voice said.
With an air of advantageousness, he said "thank you, most adored one." He was like an adolescent about to accumulate a caress. He characteristically persuaded to the convinced guard that he would have leave to speak.
"Adored one, it has come time for you to see the film."
Stay tuned for another exciting chapter of "Bank Panic!"