A Bunch of Words That Mean Absolutely Nothing

Ch.1: The Note Book

I run down the dark ally, my heart beating intensely. 
Thump Thump Thump
M

y palms drenched in sweat, causing the wallet to slip out of my hands. I quickly bend down, grabbing it, only for afoot to collide with my face.
"Ugh.." I grunt, now laying on my side debating to get up or scrunch up into a ball.
"Teach you to steal from people," The man says.
I attempt to get up when another-
HONK!
I quckly lift my head. My eyes wide, looking at the street in front of me. A cab had run a red light only to git rear-ended, spinning out into a light post.
I look at my watch.
12:17 PM
Dalmn, I'm late!
I throw my notebook into my backpack and dart for the bike stand by the bus stop. 
I quickly grab my bike and slide it out of the metal rack, jumping on it and peddling as hard as I can.
Joe is going to be pissed. I can't get fired, not again. I'm already late on rent.
Panic overcame my body, it felt as if someone was pushing on my chest, and my heart was pulsating. My forehead began to bead with sweat; It was all of a sudden a lot hotter than a few minutes ago.
By the time I realized what was happening around, me it was too late.
I hit the trashcan on the curb.
Bang Crash
I went flying over the handlebars landing on my back. I couldn't feel my legs; I couldn't feel anything below the chest. 
I gess that would be a more engrossing version of this story, but that's not what happened. I'm neither a thief nor a man who was paralyzed on his way to work. I am on my way to work but, I didn't crash into a trashcan. In fact, I just arrived. 
I put my bike in the rack quickly and run inside. The bell rings as I open the door. 
"Henry!" Joe yells as I walk in, "You're late again, this is the 7th time in the past two weeks. Your job isn't that hard hell you don't even have to get up early." 
"I know, Joe. I'm sorry I just got caught up writing this new story of mine, it's about a-" 
"Herny, get out. Your fired." 
"Sir, I-I I can do-"
"Just get out of my store, now." 
I hand over my apron and reluctantly walk out the door. I look at the bike rack by the corner. But my bike wasn't there. I slowly walk down Second Street as thoughts rush through my head.
The kind of thoughts that make you wonder if a three-story building will get the job done...
As Joseph Conrad said, “'Let them think what they liked, but I didn't mean to drown myself. I meant to swim till I sank -- but that's not the same thing.'” 
"The Secret Sharer and other stories?"
I had somehow ended up at the bus stop of Hamilton Drive. The woman next to me was staring intently. Her blonde hair with pink and blue highlights instantly drew my eyes in. 
"Hello, I asked you if that was a quote from The Secret Sharer and other stories?" She said with her eyebrows furrowed.
"Oh, indeed it was. You like that book?"  
"No, not really. I've read it, wasn't much my style. My name is Delilah." Delilah's eyes linger on me as if waiting for something. "This is the part of the conversation where you tell me your name." 
"Oh sorry, It's Henry, Henry Williams." I felt embarrassed for being so naive.
"No worries, so what brings you to the bus stop? Never seen you here before."
"So you ride the bus a lot?" I ask.
"5 days a week, to and from Higgens Hill University. But, you never answered my question." She Says
"Someone stole my bike, so here I am."
"Damn that sucks." 
"Yeah, it does."
The bus brakes squealed as it came to a halting standstill in front of us. We both stood up, stepping onto the bus. I sat towards the back, and oddly enough, Deiliah sat across from me.
Does she fancy talking to me? No, she probably has nothing more enjoyable to do. Yeah, that makes sense.
I took out my notebook and reread what I had written earlier today. I then turned the page.
Honk!
A semi had come hurling into the front of the bus; Shattered glass had gone flying everywhere. I went, plummeting into Delilah's seat, smooshing her against the window; Her head crashed through the window, hitting the concrete sidewalk. The bus now on its side now. 
"Hey, whatch you writing?" Delilah asked. I looked up from my notebook, to see Delilah gawking intently at my dark fantasy. "Oh well, that's dark..."
"Yeah, I have a lot of-" 
"I love it. I'm an English Major; This is the kinda stuff I thrive on. Do you write a lot?" 
"I- Uh- I suppose," I reply. My hands are starting to sweat, and I haven't the slightest clue as to why.
"Are you an author or just write for fun?"  
"I-I- I" I wasn't quite sure why I was stuttering so much right then, but now I think, I know why. "I'm an aspiring author." 
"Oh, that's cool. How's that going?" She asks.
"Well, I'm riding the bus, so what do you infer?" 
"Not good?"
"Yeah, not at all."
"Care if I look at some of your other writings?"
"Not a bit," I handed her the notebook. "If you want to leave feedback, write it down. I'll look at it later." I added, handing her a pin.
After about an hour of stopping at different places, we'd finally reached Mack Street; My stop.
I stood up and began to walk out.
"Henry! You dropped your phone. Here." Delilah yelled, handing me my phone.
"Thanks."