One drop of sweat was coming down the side of his cheek. “It is now or never” He exclaims to himself. The world is moving as fast as ever but Atticus’s heart makes everything seem to be moving in slow motion. It is here inside the World Bank that he must make his move. Standing there hunched with a hand in his pocket deciding whether or not to go through with the plan. For nearly two decades he has had the time and animosity to develop this plan. The metal he was touching buried in his pocket is cold and motionless. Atticus sits where he stood in the main hall of the bank where hundreds of people are just whizzing by. Money in and money out as if all people care about is what comes next what bills to pay what things to buy it has been like this for a few thousand years. “I am so fed up with this.” Atticus does not sit on an ergonomic chair that gives the feeling of weightlessness he sits on the ground right in the middle of all the commotion people passing by. “Move jerk” he hears from some man in a suit. “What the fuck are you doing” another person says. Line after line he keeps hearing. Not a single person stops just foul disgruntled word after word. The ground is cold too, in fact everything seems cold. The people, the ground, and the metal. Atticus is not focused on anything else. Slowly he pulls out the shiny metal object from his pocket and the next person to walk by screams. “He has a gun somebody he has a gun”.