The two boys broke out into a foot race.
Bob tore through the back alley as fast as his thin legs would carry him. His long stride helped him to pull a small lead, but Brian was as persistent as a bulldog. Any corner that Bob paused at, there was Brian with his Superman t-shirt stretched tightly across his thick chest. His upper body jiggled freely as he ran. Bob laughed each time he saw it. The expression on Brian’s burning red face reminded him why he was running in the first place.
When they got onto the street, Bob wove through the pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk with ease. His narrow frame made him feel like a snake swirling through twisted trees. He imagined Brian bowling his way through the ladies with their fashionable briefcases and the men with their long overcoats. He just looked so ridiculous in that t-shirt.
A light changed and a flood of cars stormed through the street. Bob froze. He intended to cross, needed to cross desperately. He was trapped, cutoff from his freedom by a yellow sea of cabbies with a demented, chubby Superman chasing him. He veered left and came to another alley. It was narrow and cluttered with people and debris. He decided to take his chances.
“I’ll get you, you shit!” yelled Brian. His voice squeaked and sounded strained.
“Why don’t you use your Supertit powers to catch me?” Bob said. He laughed and ran again.
Supertits was hot on him again. Bob picked up speed. He leapt over trash cans and crates. He skipped over pools of foul looking liquid. In his enjoyment of movement he failed to see the dead-end. A brick wall, roughly eight feet, awaited him. He lurched to a stop when his eyes finally caught sight.
Brian squealed like a steam engine train with delight.
Bob remembered his favorite movies of kung-fu and did his best to channel them. You just climb it, he thought. So he did. He ran as fast as he could and planted his feet on a nearby garbage bin. He leapt with all his might and felt the metal canister shift beneath his weight. He scrambled his feet in the air and did everything he could to run straight up. His half-size-too-small Vans found grip and up he went. He clawed the top bricks and pulled his body the rest of the way.
Brian roared with rage below him. “Get down here!” he yelled. “I’m gonna kill you!”
“Are you gonna choke me with your bitch tits, Supertits?” Bob said. Brian clenched his meaty fists and broiled. His short brown hair was stained with sweat. Dark circles of blue soaked his shirt. Bob laughed and laughed and threw his hands into the air. In his excitement, Bob lost his balance and fell from his mighty wall. His foot caught in the garbage bin on the way down and gave his ankle a proper break. His face slapped down hard onto the grimy concrete.
Brian pointed and squealed. “Now whose got tits, stupid face?”