Blake here. Apparently I'm supposed to tell you something about myself, but I'm not sure where to start.

If you asked the peanut gallery, they'd tell you I'm a con artist, a glory hound, a common criminal. They'll toss around words like narcissist, egomaniac, sociopath. Always in threes. I've heard vagabond, rogue, and plain old monster hurled my way. And every profanity in the book. I'm not sure what book that is, with all that profanity, but people have dug deep into the appendices to describe yours truly. Who are you going to believe, though, a bunch of long-winded cursing peanuts or me?

I'll tell you exactly who I am: I'm the good guy.

And today's bad guys: Litterbugs.

I've been asked to inform you that what follows is considered a short story. Short stories are like books without all the boring parts. They're good for when you have a few minutes free. Maybe you're second in in line at the DMV, staking out a guy who's just taken his mistress into a cheap hotel on his lunch break, or preparing to ambush a drug dealer in a dark alley. Those kinds of brief wait situations you find yourself in from time to time.

This story may contain some things you don't like. There could be some rearrangement of facial features through fisticuffs or more advanced weaponry. I might use four-letter words like #$%! or &*+@ without all the funny characters. Consider yourself warned.