The day I won 4 million dollars

It was 1992. I was barely ten years old, living in Dallas, Texas, and already a fugitive from the law. I had recently stolen a ten speed bicycle from an arch-rival and had nowhere to turn. Things looked grim. That was when I saw a train moving down the tracks near Old Man Salicrup's house, just across the Dallas Creek. I sped up that bike, caught up to the train, and fell asleep, sure I would soon be in Kansas.
About 40 hours later, I awoke in a stupor. I had been drugged by a Hobo named Poppy Boon, an old man who smelled of whiskey and baked beans. My butt hurt, more than ever before. And I was in the train yards in New York City.
I wandered down to Chinatown, my belly rumbling, my derriere extremely sore, when all of the sudden gun shots rang out. I didn't know it then, but I was in the middle of one of an armed robbery being committed by the vicious BTK -Born to Kill- gang of Vietnamese immigrants. In a fit of childhood stupidity and courage, I kept on riding my stolen bike through the crowds of people. Soon enough, a young gangster stumbled out of a jewelry store, bleeding profusely from his shoulder, carrying a pillowcase full of diamond necklaces and gold rings. A fellow gangster soon followed, also stumbling out of the store and bleeding. I stood there, paralyzed.
As I stood in the middle of Canal street on top my stolen Schwinn the gangsters turned on me. "You think you know China town, you S.U.V!?" one yelled (I am sure he meant to say S.O.B. but his English was very rough), "You know nothing!" He pointed his gun at my head, and I prayed for the good lord Jesus to send an angel to swoop down and save me on his magic hoverboard. As I waited for my fate suddenly, shots rang out. The hood carrying the bag fell, his head exploded. The hood with his gun pointed at me turned. BANG! A shotgun blast rang out that would have made me desecrate myself had my stomach not been empty. The bag of jewelry lay at my feet. The streets were empty except for one deaf and blind man who had no idea what was going on.
Smoke filled the doorway of the store. Blinded by the whisps of gunpowder and in shock from the ghastly sight, I wiped my eyes and coughed. Then, HE came through the door. The Chin.
"You okay, Kid?", he asked. I nodded. He seemed to stand eight feet tall with biceps that could crush a coconut, and he held a smoldering double-barrell shotgun. "This is no time for a youngster like yourself to be out on the streets alone. You better hightail it." "Yessir," I stammered. And began to ride on my bicycle. "Wait", he said. "Take this." The bage of jewelry flew into my arms. "Gee, thanks Mister!" I exclaimed. "No problem," he laughed. "Now get yourself outta here before things get messy again." I wanted top peddle away as fast I could, but was struck by the awesome presence of the man in front of me. "Wait. Who are you?" He looked at me one last time. "My name is Bruce." And then, he disappeared into the hazy air just as quickly as he had appeared, leaving me with over 4 million in jewelry.
I rode my bike back to the train depot and immediately boarded a train some Hobos said was headed back to Dallas. I knew this city living was too fast, too much to soon for a kid from Dallas like me. So I got back home, dug a hole, and buried my treasure. I had had the experience of a lifetime.
It wasn't until years later that I realized I had met Bruce Campbell, and that he is actually some sort of god among men. Perhaps when I was praying to Jesus for an angel, he did send one. I'll never know for sure. But I DO know why we all MUST gather at the Duplex theater to honor the Chin this Sunday: it is the honorable thing to do.
Well that's it--Oh, you want to know what happened to the jewelry? The 4 mil? Um...I dug it up last year, sold it, and it all went up my nose, if you know what I mean. Yeah... That's the part of the story I don't like to tell. Thanks for bringing it up, dick.

-Michael