Some thing I thought up...

[FishyPerson]

I thought this up in my head as an introduction to a story of some sort. I decided to share it with you guys to see if it's good or not. I might continue it if I can be bothered.
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Monotony can be a powerful force.

In the slow, drooping passage of time where nothing happens that anybody cares about or wants to hear about, something can spark up and put the situation on its flip-side. It could be great. It could be interesting. But most importantly, it could be detrimental to everyone involved.

Greg knew this all too well.

While he was standing on the sidewalk, waiting for his phone call to be taken off musical hold, the only thing that interrupted the foreboding silence was the tune blaring through the pay phone receiver.
"Para bailar la bamba...para bailar la bamba se necessita una poco de gracia..."
"Oh shut up."
Greg acted that his command would stop the music. He had nothing else to do while he waited. It was eleven in the afternoon and it was almost pitch-black with darkness. He was just itching for something completely out of the blue to happen any moment. It didn't. At least for a few seconds. Before he knew it, he was being accosted by a mysterious stranger wearing leather biker gear.
"Give me the telephone, motherfucker."
Greg was caught completely off guard. He didn't really know what to say, for fear of angering him. "Uh, I'll be done in a minute, jus-"
He was cut short when the man grabbed Greg firmly by his jacket collar and shoved him roughly into the concrete. The biker then turned to the phone and reset the number. He punched a few numbers and then held the receiver to his ear expectantly.

"Hey boss?"
"Yeah, I got the pickup in the garage for you."
"No, no problems."
"There was this guy on the phone, but I'll get someone to dispose of him."
"Alright."
"Four in the afternoon tomorrow?"
"Right."
"I'll see you then".
"Bye."

The biker then rushed off as fast as he arrived. Greg had managed to overhear the man's words even when dazed on the ground. He wasn't hurt that much - nothing a Band-Aid can't fix, he thought. What especially piqued his interest, however, was when the biker spoke of Greg's 'disposal'.

"Oh great. Now I'm in the mob's bad books on my rotten luck. Fucking hell."

He strode off to the police station, hoping that they had graveyard shift workers in their ranks.

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So what do you think?