weselec:

He began sweating, hard. The last time he’d had to strain this intently for information, he was buried deep in Mekong bushes. Certain he’d been spotted, he froze in position. His veins flooded with a toxin unnamed — no, he’d known adrenaline many times, minutes ago in fact — and this wasn’t that. Something primal in him seized every voluntary fiber. He could feel his eyes go dead cold, and held no doubt that his very skin had turned lush green. He was no longer animal. He was jungle.

Then he finally found the fucking box score, looked at it for three seconds and closed the window.

I’m calling it: part two involves a pop-under.

(Source: shanecyr)