cigarettes and anger.
Annoyance at being being randomly questioned by complete strangers.
And cold rage.
But mostly cold rage.
Excuse me sir, but you wouldn't happend to be a bullet stopper, would you?
Yes. On several occasions I have been in the position of stopping bullets. Sometimes only one. Sometimes more.
Somehow, by the grace of God (and cold rage), I am still here. It would seem that I may be destined to die of old age and never see Valhalla, not from a lack of trying, but mainly due to the utter incompetence of my enemies. Everyone capable of shooting straight, and willing to do so, all appear to either be on our side, or have decided not to participate in the festivities.
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