Bucket Rider Nightmare

I was walking through The Pines, my friend Daniel’s apartment complex in Santa Monica and I started to feel this incredible fear in my spine. I knew something terrible was going to happen. I knew when I arrived at Daniel’s doorstep He’d be there. But I continued on, between the rows of townhouses, past their wooden fence patios. I turned left into the very last apartment and He was there, waiting for me. It was Anton Chigur, with his long hair and his oxygen tank cattle prod and sawed off shotgun. He was just standing there, not looking angry or menacing or smiling even, just standing like he’d been waiting for not that long. I turned and ran back, back towards the entrance where I’d buzzed myself in. My feet pushed desperately into the concrete yet I barely moved, like pedaling on a bike whose chain had come off. I turned to look behind but he wasn’t following me. I got to the front gate and he was there again, only two steps below with his back towards me. I ran down another set of stairs into the subterranean parking lot but I knew there really wasn’t any point because no matter where I went, no matter what I did, that when I got there, He was going to be there.