(by Cheng)
His tea had long since grown cold, but he drank it anyway, staring out through his dark glasses. It'd been years since he'd been to France, but he knew these streets like the back of his hand. He planned long and carefully for this day. As the cab stopped on the Champs Elysee, he jumped out and sprinted the rest of the way to the Palace. A good spy never walks. Twenty minutes later, he was jumping from a lasered hole in the ceiling of the presidential office. As he landed on the big center desk, he whispered a single word to the single representative of the French people.
"Cowards."
Wit is that which was often thought but ne'er so well expressed.
(This awful piece was the result of my trying to fit the lines into as short a space as possible)