The shots ring out, and in a semi-comic scene, he falls behind the counter, his legs flailing in the air a moment. I grin, chuckling a little. Throwing the gun aside, I too exit, though this through the door, and the stage is empty, both actors done. It’s Saturday, and tomorrow’s Sunday, and then Monday and work. Who knows what these days will bring? I suppose—I gaze up at the distant blimp like a football lazily hanging in the air—I should run away. A one way ticket to a one way place, and so is life and death.
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