I was flying over Champagne, Chicago, Illinois when I swooped down at a seemingly empty gas station for a pit stop.
I guess I should explain that.
The flying, I mean.
It's weird but I didn't even notice the first time I flew. One second I was walking normally and then the next second, -whoa, where'd the ground go! After a couple of times bumping into birds and a couple of near death experiences with an airplane, two hang gliders, a few kites, and a really bizarre one with an air balloon, did I actually stop to wonder _how_ I was doing it.
The first couple of times I seemed to fly just by _wanting_ to. After a while though, I began to notice a weird feathery...two weird feathery lumps growing out of my back. At first, I was freaked, I mean, I'm not the type to care how I look much, or what I'm wearing but most _sane_ people tend to get worried when it looks like they're turning part goat.
Even though you can't really call me sane but whatever.
In a few months my "fuzz" grew into wings that were about seven feet across and pure black with streaks of electric blue, purple and indigo.
Flying was the only thing that came to me naturally, that didn't take practice. It was like breathing, I
didn't have to think about it. I just flew.
I tucked my wings in and dived, landing awkwardly on the Mobil sign. I scouted around briefly for any signs of life before jumping down. I snapped my fingers, entered, grabbed everything I could get my hands on, stuffed into my backpack, relocked the door, and made my getaway in less than five seconds flat.
I was feeling really proud of myself too, like the fool that I am, thinking, "I'm getting better at this stuff."
Obviously I didn't bother thinking about stuff like, say, _cameras_ for instance.
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In a hurry, yallah wallah ciao!
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