"Now there's something you don't see every day," he cracked, looking at the body of what was presumably the owner of Sensei Mike's Karate Academy with a sword sticking all the way through his chest and piercing the punching bag on the other side.
He was right, but the joke was about as stale as the McDonalds coffee that I was reduced to sipping out of a Styrofoam cup. Being forced to drink fast food coffee would be enough to put me in a foul mood even if I wasn't having to stare down at the body of a homicide victim with my best friend (who usually really isn't that much of an asshole) making feeble stabs at gallows humor to try to hide his discomfort.
[Only 49, 874 more words to go! This novel writing stuff is easy breezy, Chucky Cheesey.]