A Good Day to Kill. 

The wailing sound of a siren jolted Gordon awake. He glanced quickly at the bright red numbers on his bedside clock. It was twenty minutes before he was due to rise.

For weeks, he was nervously waiting for this day to arrive. The sense of anticipation was nearly palpable. His mouth was bone dry. He guzzled a large gulp of water from the glass beside the clock.

Swinging his tall, lean frame out of the bed he stood up and stretched his body toward the sky. He went through a regular routine of neck and shoulder rolls to loosen out his upper body. He needed to be as limber and flexible as possible.

In the bathroom, he splashed cold water several times on his face. Once he had dried his face with a small towel, he made sure to dry up the marble countertop. He then opened a banana that he had left there the previous evening. The day always went well when you prepared properly.

In the cabinet outside the bathroom, he donned his running gear he had laid out piece by piece. He started from the bottom up.

All the lines from the famous brand maker lined up symmetrically up and down his body. That pleased him. He pulled the black balaclava down over his head and fixed it so no part of his face was visible - apart from the eyes.

Having checked and double checked his gear, he chewed on some nuts and seeds. Disposing of one layer of running clothes in a bin along the way would be easy. Picking out the right bin without CCTV coverage was crucial.

Confusion, camouflage and speed would aid his escape. One slip up on his behalf could lead to his arrest. Alleyways and tunnels were his best friend. Sewers were a last resort.

He was already sweating just thinking about it.

Walking into the living room he sat down and studied the routes in and out of the park. He knew the park well, but wanted to absorb everything. Cameras would be monitoring his every move but that's where the excitement lay. The elusive chase. He would be one step ahead of them.

Once Gordon was sure of the route and backup routes to slip and slide into, he sat with his back against the front door. This was his sixth time weeding out the slack jawed imbeciles that congregate and clutter the running lanes of Central Park at the weekend.

With twenty deep breaths relaxing his every core he visualized committing the act. And then he saw himself bobbing and weaving, escaping their clutches.

It was time.

He picked up the map and burned it in an empty metal can. Slipping on latex gloves he removed the slim ultra light blade from it's plastic wrapping and slid it into the scabbard concealed in his left arm sleeve. Placing leather gloves over the latex, he now was ready to step out into the frigid air.

It was time to remove another annoyance.