Coasting To A Stop
A revolver in his hand, sweating, out of breath, out of time and out of luck. Marcus had no illusions about the outcome of this current escapade. He was going down man, and this time he wasn’t going to see the light of day for a good long while.
Guard breaking out of the store door now. Got to keep moving, keep trying. Sliding along that filthy alley wall now. Bone Alley. How many nights had he slept,or better yet, laid out drunk, unconscious to the cares of the world. Yeah right.
Move stuoid. That guard is coming this way. He may be old, fat and slow,but he had a shotgun and it didn’t take a lot of skill to point in the general direction of the perepe trature. In this case the perp. Was he, himself, and pull the trigger. Once, twice even being a double barrel 12 guage.
When Synapses Go Bad 