Disclaimer: I don't own the Breakfast Club franchise, i'm just a fan...
The cool Chicago air embraces my bloody face as I run... Eventually, I run out of breath and stop. I sit down on a sidewalk and wipe the remaining blood off of my face. The murder of my father is the most life-changing thing that I have ever done... and I don't regret it. That small amount of remorse deep inside me is pushed aside by the feeling of saddistic satisfaction and an evil smirk comes across my face.
My plan is to head to the city and get some rest for the night. Tomorrow, I'll head south to avoid freezing to death in the cold, dark, Illinois winter.
After hitchin a ride and crossing the bridge, I head into the nicer part of the city. I want to get some sleep in an alley without being mugged. I find a cozy little dumpster to sleep beside. The night is young, and I'm feeling feisty, so I make a mental picture of the place and where it is. I head to a small, isolated department store and decide to pinch a few pennies right out of it.
I slowly walk into the door and fake interest in some candy bars. I notice that there's no security cameras. Just makes my job easier. The guy behing the counter is some neo-maxi-dweeboid with thick glasses and too much acne. I quickly make my way towards the counter. I grab the twerp and throw him over the counter which is surprisingly easy. I kick him once he's down and open the cash register. I While grabbing the sweet cash inside, Twig-boy yells at me in his squeaky voice, so I put my boot down on his head. That should shut him up. I grab a couple of beers and walk away. Twig-boy shouldn't have been working the graveyard shift.
I run the ten-or-so blocks back to the alley that I visited before. Now I'm exhausted so I pick out a few boxes from the dumpster and flatten them. I lay them down and top it off with a few newspapers for extra comfort... yeah right. It's a sad excuse for a shelter, if you can even call it that. Oh well. One step a time...