Oh, God. Don't pull yet, not yet.
Christ, I've done some bad things
in my time.
I can't die like this. Not like
a mark. I'm not a mark!
A man in mourning for himself. But Rath is not
Keeping the .22 steady, an inch behind Ketcham's head,
curious as the clip drops into the mud at his feet.
It's his gun, his dignity.
Hello, old friend.
(hefts it; knows)
One in the chamber.
squints at the sun, the last thing he'll ever see.
Last few years I've been looking
for a sunrise. Maybe a sunset's
begins to sink into the mud.
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