We opened almost a hundred doors that day, and got all sorts of tribute from at least sixty rooms.
Clothes. Pants. Watches. Wristbands. Even caps.
As long as the boys in the room treated us roughly, we would respond in kind.
Even if they didn't, we would insist those with wealthier goods to be generous and share their luxury products with us.
It wasn't the most noble action.
Looking back, I wasn't really proud of what I did back then.
But it was what it was, and I am what I am.
I was a wolf in a massive building full of fat, clucking chicken. Some were even evil chicken.
It was difficult not to take a bite!
Or sixty.
If I only just broke your erroneous impression that I was a hero's hero from my childhood until now, then I have to say you're a fool.
I was a junkyard scrapper in possession of enormous power.
I was no hero.
I've killed people.
I had personal agenda.
Personal peeves.
Personal grudges.
And especially so against bullies.
But I digress.
