Thoughts that lead back to the blonde on the television

John chewed and swallowed the last bite of his toast, thinking over the newsreader’s responses to his thoughts as he eyed the rest of the newscast – nothing much left than fluff pieces and the weather – a clear, sunny day in the mid-seventies. Sure, he nodded, I can prove to all those celebrity bitches that I’m better than them – maybe every slut who looks down her nose at me – but – if I play with them over a distance like I did with that blonde bimbo, they won’t know it was me. I’d have to get up close to really take my , put that bitches in place. Then I would be seen. Remembered. John scowled. I don’t want that. I may loathe the whores, but it’s not because they’re famous. That means attention. _Media _attention. That could get me into trouble. And if have to go on the run, or sent to prison, because of them – I won’t be able to show them the truth about me.

His mind churned, ignoring the fact that none of them knew him, his tic developed from something forgotten in his past.

Hmmm… John tapped his fingers on his small table. This – power – works at a distance at least, but – do I have to see the sluts, have some kind of eye to eye contact? Or can I just think of them – make them act on my impulses anytime and anywhere? Hmmm… Well, I could try…

John closed his eyes, concentrating on the blonde newscaster, pushing the woman to drive to his apartment building and come up to his place – without telling anyone where she was going.

And now – I wait, he grunted, standing up from his small kitchen table. His eyes fell on the pile of dirty dishes next to his sink, nodding in satisfaction at the filthy countertop. If the bitch does show up, I’ll put her to good work doing what women ought to be doing, John smirked.