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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