'rock The Cobbler

[excelsior]

Whistling a tune, Rock tied his bike to a rail, and looked about. The bus station was out of sight to the disused bridge, but Rock confirmed this fact before he began to run. His was a swift breed. He pumped his arms and leapt forward, his feet occasionally touching the ground, passing startled geese, peeved dogs, and even a down-on-their-luck human in the homeless camp as he passed through. Anyone who's eyes were quick enough to detect him dismissed him as fancy. Rock occasionally left them a pot of Irish stew, or several sheets of pizza. Along with some of his choicest limericks. FOCUS, ROCK. The still skeletal building came into view, and Rock leapt the pathetic security fence and slowed, employing a braking technique similar to a baseball slide. He closed his eyes and caught his breath. The space heaters were still foolishly on, the workers would soon return from lunch. The ground was covered by a tarp. Rock took a breath, and dove under it, seeking the markers for his vault.