Author's Note: I am cheesy. If you are smart enough to realize what this is modeled after - it doesn't take too much - you should know who it belongs to and/or at least who did the remake, which is preferable to the original. Blame it on boredom. Please.

MEANWHILE.........
Out and About on a Sunday
By Miss Ang

Johnny perched on the fire escape, knife in hand. He could hear the music playing through the open window. Damn noisy neighbors. And as if that wasn't enough - they're playing Michael Jackson! Growling, he tightened his grip on the knife handle and drew closer. He could hear the girl singing along as she sat at her kitchen table, doing some small inconsequential thing. He hoped she enjoyed whatever it was - as it was to be her last real deed in the Earthly realm.

As Johnny slid through the open window, the music reached a loud point, the key changing. The girl began singing along, too absorbed in the music to notice him sneaking up on her.

"You like singing?" Johnny said softly, his knife hidden behind his back.

"Well...yes. ... How did you get in here?" She stammered, getting up from her chair and leaving the paperwork she was doing unattended.

"Oh - I heard the music playing. It is a little loud, don't you think? Sounds awfully like screaming." Swiftly, Johnny took out the knife and slashed at her. "Scream along, won't you?"

She did - quite loudly, running across the tiny apartment. "You PSYCHO! What are you DOING?"

Johnny chuckled, leaping after her over the fresh, red stains soaking into the ivory deep-pile. "I called you three times today, already, from across the street," he warned her, as she stumbled into her bedroom. "I told you - three times - to turn it down." He glared menacingly, backing her into a corner. "And yet ... you STILL DON'T LISTEN! So - I've come to tell you one more time. TURN. THE FUCKING. MUSIC. DOWN!!!!!!" Savagely, he plunged his knife into the girl's breast, sending a fresh flood of blood onto the carpet and walls. As he sought out his victim's stereo, yanking the cords from the wall, he thought he could hear voices. Quickly, he fled out the fire escape as someone entered the apartment.

"Annie? Are you ... Oh, GOD...."

Johnny chuckled to himself. "Last time I'll have to tell that bitch to turn her fucking stereo down," he smiled, wiping the knife off on the inside of his coat. "....I'm hungry." Looking up, he spotted the fast-food taco restaurant down the street and made a beeline for it. "TACO!"

Bursting through the doors, the Homicidal Maniac rushed up to the counter. "Gimme taco."

"Sir? You came in through the wrong door. Please exit and come in the other way."

"Does it make a difference, you facetious idiot? I want a taco. I am willing to pay for it and support the Gimme-Gimme franchises of this world. That is a great sacrifice for the sake of my hunger. You have to realize what I'm going through - for you, and for my poor beleaguered stomach which is about to implode," Johnny said rationally. "Now. Give me the god-damn taco."

"Sir."

Johnny leapt over the counter and into the kitchen. "This is where the tacos are, yes?"

"Sir!"

"Stop calling me that. You aren't even treating me halfway respectfully enough to get away with calling me that. All I want is a taco. But will you even TRY to appease me? NO! Well. I'm just going to have to register a complaint about that!!!" Slamming a hand down on a nearby fry counter, Johnny picked up a taco from the prep line and sauntered out of the kitchen. As he crossed the parking lot, taking a bite out of his taco, the miniature explosive device he'd planted on the grease well went off, sending the place up in flames.

Swallowing, Johnny smiled. "Damn, I'm smooth."