Until this fateful day, Bob's life had been stable and sedate. Stagnant, some would say.

Bob walked to work every day, his calm demeanour making him a favourite of the neighbourhood. The paper boy — what was his name again? — would shout a greeting to him as he rode by on his bike, delivering papers early each morning. The old fart next door, Hubert, gardening at an ungodly hour, would utter a gravelly "hello" as Bob strolled past his carefully manicured lawn. The attractive divorcée living down the block would wave a sultry "good morning" to him as he casually avoided direct eye contact. Life was good, if boring and unchanging.

This fine morning, Bob decided his life was about to change.

As his watch chimed 8am, Bob glanced around surreptiously. As the paper boy rode by, Bob stuck out a foot and knocked him off his shiny mountain bike, quickly grabbing the contraption for himself. He hopped on and headed towards Hubert's lawn.

With the kid uttering a stream of obscenities behind his back, Bob rode as carelessly as he could through Hubert's petunias and daisies.

"Damn, did that feel good," Bob thought to himself. "What next?"

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