(no subject)
across the table at him. The whisps of white smoke dance across the vision of his face. That constant grimace that I've become used to over the years cracks.
"It's true. They were my heros, growing up."
His verification seems more like a farce. Could it be that there is more depth to this man than just a gun?
"You're shitting me!"
I know he's shitting me.
"On God. When I was a kid, I always imagined I'd be that goofy guy you see on TV. The one that dies, ya know? And after they die, the group pulls together overcomes whatever the hell they had to. Then the girl that always wanted to love him suddenly realizes it's too late, yadda-yadda."
"And why did you decide to sell yourself out as a whore with a gun?"
He chuckles. Guess he hasn't heard us called that before.
"I figure...The sooner it comes, the sooner I'll know."
"Know what?"
"What the hell we have to do."