He slipped the pearl-handled revolver into his pocket and felt his confidence soar. Just let them try and pick on him now! He was ready.
He blinks through bourbon. The road undulates like a whore’s tongue. He falls to his knees, forgiveness in the beam of oncoming headlights.
His heart sank when that damn kid answered the door. Clearing his throat, he cradled the limp rabbit and fumbled for a five from his wallet.
I called it a souvenir, because a “bruise” was something that hurt. This didn’t. As it faded to green, I counted the days until he’d return.
Marriage is not for everyone, she thinks as the blood drips on the kitchen tiles. A dishwasher, however, everyone should have one of those.