Hard to imagine

It was hard for Rock to imagine that this man had ever been a champion runner. He spent a day with him, mostly wandering around trails that connected small, rural communities north of North Little Rock, near Gravel Ridge and the Little Rock Air Force Base.
Thus far, Rock had learned that there was nothing at all organized about the way this man conducted any facet of his life. It was apparent that he tried to maintain a healthy lifestyle, yet the night before he had eaten half a carton of strawberry ice cream as he watched a baseball game that would not end before he fell asleep in his favorite chair. He told Rock he had been busy with work and consequently not at all interested in much else.

Open water

The narrow inlet was crowded with watercraft, including Rock's ski boat. Severe weather was on the way. Heavy cloud cover had begun to churn and give off a bold yellowish hue Rock had never seen before.
There was a specific reason all the boats and barges and ships had taken to the open water, but Rock couldn't remember what it was. Neither could the pilot of the boat beside Rock's, but they figured the odd sky and harsh weather about to begin had something to do with it.
As they discussed the matter, a party barge with a large, enclosed cabin, suddenly roared past them. It was going at least fifty miles an hour when it slammed into a stationary craft so large that it barely budged when it was struck.
Rock turned to the man in the boat beside his. "There's no way he survived that," he said. "Right?"
"No, there's not," the man said. "He's dead for sure."

Central High

Brick-covered columns all across the top of Little Rock's Central High School are among the building's trademarks, but for Rock, they had become an impediment to his progress. His sense of balance had recently limited him. In this circumstance, it made him hesitant to make so much as a simple maneuver around the columns. He knew that, despite the simplicity of the steps required, a failure of balance would likely result in a fall of fifty or more feet to the concrete walkways below.
Rock was overwhelmed by fear and frustration. He wasn't sure how he would ever get down from the top of this building.

Democrat Football League

There was an NFL game underway about which Rock had forgotten. He went to bed thinking he had easily defeated his Democrat Football League fantasy opponent, Dave Holzman, but Dave had another player going, and that player—Vikings running back Jerrick McKinnon—was having a break-out game, racking up touchdowns as a runner and receiver.
Rock wasn't sure what to think when he woke up Tuesday morning. He had to turn on his laptop to confirm that McKinnon played for someone other than Dave. It took a moment longer for Rock to remember that no game could possibly have been underway early on a Tuesday morning.

A silver-plated revolver

Rock stood on a downtown sidewalk with several overweight gray-haired out-of-town Hash House Harriers he met in a bar a few minutes earlier. Everyone was in good spirits as they watched a man approach from the other side of the street. He fit Rock's general impression of the men beside him and he thought at first he was part of their group, an impression that dissolved the moment the man pulled a silver-plated revolver from his waistband.
Someone in the group wisecracked that this fellow didn't have the guts to shoot anyone. It seemed to Rock that none of them were particularly concerned about this circumstance, though he himself was somewhat panicked.
Then the man pointed the gun toward the Hasher to Rock's left and fired into his abdomen. He began to shoot the other men, who tried to duck back into the bar. Rock held the slumped body of the first Hasher shot as a shield in front of him. As the shooter continued to fire into the others, Rock knew he would have to make a run for it. He turned and sprinted to an alley no more than twenty feet away. He covered several blocks before finally hiding under a large dump truck parked in a fenced construction area.