Every time he stepped on the property he remembered. He remembered the fights, the anger...the gaping loneliness. Now as he stood watching a modern-day David and Goliath tale, every memory became more acute, sharper. No matter how many times Mr. Mini Fists of Fury got knocked down, he bounced back up. Luciano was impressed...but unwilling to make his presence known just yet. At least not until... “Ah! The little shit bit me!” The older kid pulled back, his wrist bleeding. Luciano grinned. A dirty fighter—he could appreciate that. He hadn’t hit the six-foot mark until he was seventeen, and then he just kept on growing. But he understood the plight of being small, feeling weak. The smaller scrapper hopped up again, a sound close to a battle cry leaving his mouth as he lunged for his bully. Luciano finally stepped from his hiding place, reached out, and plucked the pint-sized warrior out of the air by his shirt. Three pairs of eyes widened at the sight of him. “Yo! I don’t believe this shit!
What do You think about The Beauty And The Brawler?
