Skyscraper Darts

There we sat, three of us, feet dangling over the parapet of the building, forty-eight floors above the street.

I selected a dart, filled it with whipped cream and hefted it in my hand. Its paper casing was packed full of dairy goodness; its fins were straight and strong; the paper nose cone was pointed and symmetrical... it was good to go.

I watched the flag on the building across the street, waiting for a sign the wind was falling a little then I launched it out at a slight downward angle, allowing approximately eight car lengths. I wanted to hit the driver in the BMW convertible that had pushed through a crowded pedestrian crossing, far below. This was fun!

The missile tipped over in its arc of flight and sped downward, gathering velocity. SPLAT!

It had hit the top edge of the windscreen, spraying cream over the front of the vehicle and the car's occupants.

I had another three darts in the air, each aimed slightly in front of the last... Mr Trustfund and his BMTroubleYou were in for a frustrating afternoon.

Tomorrow I might fill one or two of them with pigeon shit.