Irritated that every single woman he had already passed had looked at him as if he were a stalker, Taylor slowed down and took a seat on a small wooden bench.  He didn't look too bad - he was wearing an old, yet respectable looking grey woollen jumper with a pair of dark slacks.  His hair was slicked back as always, and his facial hair was neat, in a rough sort of way.  The sun was shining on this, nine o' clock on a Friday morning.  The park was busy, but not crowded.  Taylor rolled up the sleeves of his heavy jumper and began to think aloud.

"Tonya Glory...  How delusional can one get?  If I were her, I really wouldn't be putting any rush whatsoever on Pimp to get around to defending the title against her.  I mean, right now, she's on cloud nine.  She's the first-ever female Television Champion.  She's on an impressive streak.  She's first in line for a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship.  Those three traits alone are admirable..."

A young woman in formal attire scurried past Taylor's bench, not daring even to look at him.  After all, he was talking to himself.  Taylor didn't care, though.  The Lone Gunman simply cleared his throat and continued.

"But what happens when she cashes in her proverbial golden ticket?  Cutting to the chase, there is NO WAY Tonya can beat Pimp and become the titlist.  If not for Pimp's superior size or power, then for the presence of the Heretics...  If not for the Heretics than for any number of angered contenders fed up that a woman much lower in the rankings is getting first dibs.  Not to insult her, it's just fact...  It's an inevitability.  My point is that Glory would be best served riding her current gravy train for the foreseeable future.  Because once Glory goes in for the challenge and comes out with the loss, then that's it.  She slumps straight back into the Television Division.  She's no longer in with a chance of becoming first female World Heavyweight Champion...  She's no longer on an impressive winning streak...  Quite frankly, she'd become nothing but filler.  Again, this is not trash talk, but rather sincere advice.  Tonya should think long and hard before considering moving in for the kill."

Taylor instantly began to itch all over.  The cheap fibre of the jumper chafed at his skin, and he quickly pulled the garment up over his head and took it off to reveal a black UJW T-Shirt.  The Lone Gunman folded the jumper neatly and placed it beside him on the bench.  A group of middle-aged women in grocery store uniforms walked past in a pack, glaring at Taylor.  Judging him, looking at him as if he were a filthy rapist or a criminal.  Taylor twitched ever so slightly, torn between letting their judgements and whispers slide or following them and handing them the verbal tirade of their lives.

"..."

Nothing came out.  Taylor got to his feet, grabbed the jumper and jogged after the women.  One or two screamed as the tall, lanky man followed them at speed.  Another fished into her purse.

"Get away, you awful man...  I have mace in this purse, and a cell phone!"

"Sheila, don't frustrate him.  Give him whatever he wants, for the love of God!!!"

Several of the women frantically fingered through their handbags and purses, some coming up with small cash.  Taylor just stared back at them in irritation and disbelief.

"Here's twenty-five dollars...  It's all I have on me!!!"

Taylor's eyes narrowed for a moment and he sighed.

"Put your filthy money away...  I'm no thief.  The fact that you people would even consider judging me makes me sick to my stomach.  Look at yourselves...  You're a bunch of fifty-year-old women sporting the kind of make-up that not even the flooziest of harlets would.  You're on your way to another day or your mundane lives, serving the public their recommended daily allowance of unnecessary crap at knockdown prices..."

Taylor trailed off for a moment, taking in the reaction of the group's two 'leaders'.

"Excuse me, young man...  But I've been working in Lidl Groceries for nearly ten years!  I'm the assistant manager for crying out loud-"

The other woman said nothing, but clearly resented the fact that her co-worker continued to argue with the 6'4 Lone Gunman.

"So what?  You're expendable.  If you get hit by a bus on your way to work this morning, one of your friends here will have replaced you by lunchtime.  Should one of them drop dead, there'll be fifty more waiting in line."

None of the women said a thing.  Some looked offended whilst some looked to agree with the former Light Heavyweight Champion's reasoning.  Taylor waited for a moment to see if anyone would step up and respond to him.  Looking disappointed that nobody did, he continued.

"I'm sure you're all afraid of me.  I find that ridiculous.  Your weekly self-awareness and independent woman classes tell you there's safety in numbers.  They tell you that you should never look an imposing figure such as myself in the eye.  The chances are that I'll be a rapist, a thief or at least a drug addict..."

Genuine fear came across the faces of some of the women.  One at the back began to slowly back away.

"...BULLSHIT!!!"

The women let out a scream in unison.

"You're told that someone like me is a lowlife, a scumbag, bad news, and most importantly, a threat to you people.  What you aren't told is that people like me also happen to be your doctors, dentists, telephone operators...  We drive your taxis, do your tax returns, educate your children...  Confused?  Am I being a little too broad here?"

Taylor mechanically scanned each and every one of the assembled women, the shock and intimidation on their cheaply made-up faces seeming to both irritate and please him.

"The people to be afraid of are yourselves.  In this society focussed on fear, stereotypes are made.  It is because of these that morons like you take it upon your fat, ignorant selves to assume that my sole purpose in life is to be out to get you.  In every single walk of life there are tall people, big people, silent people, loners...  The very fact that I kept to myself whilst you paraded by me ten minutes ago clearly shows that you are the people in the wrong.  You don't like my clothes?  You think, because this T-Shirt displays the insignia of a professional wrestling promotion, that I'm some sort of boogeyman?  How dare you?!  I'm thirty-three years old and I've got one of the most important, high profile jobs in American Professional Wrestling.  Some would regard me as a celebrity.  Others as royalty.  If I couldn't show up for work one day, there'd be uproar.  Stock would plummet, drastic measures would be considered.  I am not replaceable or interchangeable like you.  Three nights ago, I played a prominent role in my company's flagship Television Show.  I made more money for that one show than any of you will make this month.  But do I gloat about it?  Do I take it upon myself to walk around and cast judgement on anyone I don't like the look of?  Do I catch a glimpse of someone minding his own business and have the audacity to look down on him?"

"No, no.  Uh, uh, of course not."

Taylor sensed the frantic woman's insincerity and sighed.

"Be on your way, ladies, don't give head office another reason to bump you off for a newer model..."

Taylor smirked ever so slightly as the nucleated cloud of women floated away from him bickering amongst themselves.  Apparently satisfied, the Lone Gunman threw the heavy jumper over his right shoulder, put his hands in his pockets and strolled off in the opposite direction.