Revolver in holsters

Next to bottle and glass

Rain hitting window and roof

 

Old scars aching

With joints following close

Weathered face look back

 

With sleeves rolled up

Calloused hands holds glass

Scotching the mouth

 

Faces flashing before him

From both dead and alive

Caused by the choices he made

 

His phone vibrates

Unhooking from his belt

“Precinct” visible on the screen

 

Downing last of his whiskey

Pulling down his coat from the hook

Closing the door behind him

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