Jason Matthew Fisher was your average, ordinary New Yorker. Every morning he dragged himself out of bed, made a steaming cup of coffee, and trudged outside his apartment to the newsstand on the corner. He always bought “The Times;” he only read the sports section. The rest of his day was spent in a cubicle listening to people in neighboring offices drone on about their dull, dreary lives. After work, Jason would return to his apartment, flick on the TV, and heat up the previous night’s leftover Chinese. Yes, Jason’s life was awfully predictable.

January 23rd started off like any other day. When his alarm went off at seven a.m., Jason pulled on a wrinkled sweatshirt and old jeans, dumped two spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee and headed out the door. As he slowly made his way to the lobby, two unfamiliar men rushed towards the stairs, shoving Jason against the wall. Thinking nothing of it, he rubbed his side and slowly pushed open the heavy glass doors. All of a sudden, his tranquil trek outside was interrupted by an ear-splitting scream.

Jason dropped his cup; scorching coffee splattered all over him. He sprinted back to the lobby, where the noise had originated. A man lay hunched over on the ground, trembling. The pretty blonde receptionist that always said “hi” to Jason was crouched under her chair. Everyone else cowered up against the wall. Jason scanned the room as he tried to find the perpetrator.

Right there, standing in the middle of the lobby was a tall man with a gun, pointing it at the apartment’s manager. His back was to Jason. He was dressed in all black, except for his distinctly bright, yellow socks. No man in their right mind would wear socks like those, Jason thought as he crept up behind the gunman. The manager recognized him and opened his mouth to say something, but Jason violently shook his head in an effort to be silent.

The gunman was shaking.
“You’re gonna pay,” he shouted at the manager. He brought the gun up to eye level and put his finger over the trigger. Then he hesitated. Jason, thinking now or never, took his chance and tackled him from behind. The gun went off as they fell to the floor. The receptionist grabbed the phone above her as Jason knocked the gun away. The manager grabbed it and held it in front of the man while Jason pinned his arms. They stayed like that until sirens wailed and the police burst through the glass doors.

The manager repeatedly thanked Jason for saving his life.
“It was a mistake to get involved with him,” he muttered, shaking his head as he shook Jason’s hand. “Gambling gets you nowhere.” Jason smiled politely and headed towards the door. All of a sudden, he whirled around as if remembering something important.
“Does anyone have another cup of coffee?”