Waiting for the lights to turn Ichabod felt something pressed into the palm of his hand.
“What the…” he mumbled spinning round to see a tall pale man in a long dark coat walk away through rush hour crush.
‘For what you have done, today you will die at 8am’ the note read.
Glancing down at his watch he laughed to himself as he stepped out into the road, and in that moment three things went through his mind.
The first was “It’s already 8:59 you dumb fu…”, closely followed by “Oh bugger, daylight savings”, and the third was the number 34 bus.
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