In a park on the outskirts of a city a young man sits on a rickety park bench with his head in his hands.
He has a job to do. That he does. But in his heart he doesn’t want to. Not at all. The night before while others slept he stayed awake staring at the water stained ceiling in his b
Bedroom. When dawn came he had dressed and showered, but he skipped a breakfast of off-brand sweetened corn flakes and milk that was soon to go bad. The young man grabbed his keys and left.
His car wouldn’t start because his battery was dead. For most this would be a rough morning, but for him it was just another reason why this job was necessary. He sighed and began to walk.
He made it to the park with the rickety bench and sat down and put his head in his hands. The birds calling in the trees and the sky at sunrise were doing nothing for his inner turmoil. F
For the at least the twelfth time this morning he reached into his pocket and felt the cold hard reality that the handgun brought crashing down onhu
To be continued