It was at the moment that Finsbury Drake thought he should have chosen his word a bit more wisely. Out of the bottom corner of his eye, he saw the biggest clenched fist he ever did see; and it was getting bigger. The connection with his right cheek caused his entire face instantly numb and the cigarette butts in the cracks in the cobbled street, on which he was standing, to get intimately close. Terra firma brought well needed rest, albeit extremely short. A hand grabbed his shoulder and flipped him around. Now laying on his back, looking directly up into the street light over head, a huge shadow came into view. This shadow obviously belonged to the fist he had met just moments prior.
Finsbury pushed himself up, whilst exercising his jaw in gigantic circular motions and patting his face to make sure it was still there. As he unsteadily rose to his feet, he glanced in the direction of the huge shadow. It was as if mother nature herself had her heart set on creating a wild African Warthog, then distracted by the realisation she had left the gas on, and before the construction was over, this half-beast popped out.