By Hunter Perez
I looked out of my apartment window at the thunderstorm soaking the neighborhood. It was a Saturday night and, for once, I was glad that I had no plans to go out. The weather forecast called for downpours into the following afternoon, so the warm comfort of my little one-bedroom sanctuary was more than satisfying.
I heated a frozen pizza, open a bottle of soda, plopped myself on my couch, switched on the TV and found an obscure cable channel that was running an endless series of old-time cartoons. Even though I saw those zany films a hundred million times, I could still laugh at Yosemite Sam getting a cannonball blasted into his face or Sylvester the Cat ingesting a dynamite stick.
Somewhere in the animation mayhem, I fell into a sound sleep. It was a beautiful slumber, until my peace was ended with a pounding on my front door that shook me awake. I glanced at my clock and found it was shortly after midnight. Confused and groggy, I stumbled from the couch to the door. I inquired about the source of the pounding and a loud voice beyond the door declared it was my pal Jock.
