Introduction: Truck-kun does not exist.

I am slowly coming out of my MMA (Mixed Martial Arts) training really happy. Since I was knocked out in the first game by my friend "Grinder", I was able to drink my energy can. Fuck, Red Cow is life. If his name is "Grinder", I think it's because he was born 9 months after a sectarian attempt, apparently aimed at reincarnating Bob Marley in the body of a platypus. Not everything would have gone according to plan, and the platypus was condemned for "sectarian aberration". Anyway, I step aside, I go home with a nice black eye and get ready to tell my high school buddies about the fight of the century I had that night. My friend "Grinder" covers me, so no one knows that I am like a feather that flies in the sandstone of the wind and spreads on the fresh grass of a spring in bloom: I am a shit, but a luxury. Girls love me, boys fear me, and I love me. I think Grinder (my former torturer by the way) has been on my side since he saw the police gun I stole from my father. He talked about mafia, redemption, and popcorn, I think. In short, the good news is that I have a great future ahead of me, I don't know why. So I leave the training, I continue the street of the Fawn and cross the road. When all of a sudden, a huge truck arrives and stops at the traffic lights. So I quietly cross the pedestrian crossing when it is green and a taxi runs over me. I suddenly find myself on the slender tower (Paris) with what looked more or less like a mixture between Mike Tyson and Angelina Jolie. I must say that it reminded me of the chocolate spaghetti I used to cook for my parents when I was young.