We took a walk.
A long, quiet walk with a forty-five.
If after that many miles, a hundred thousand sleeping breaths of numbing, bitter breeze, you still have it in your hands to chamber a round, it must be fate.

"If you're not chasing, or being chased, you're nothing. Nobody shoots at nothing, but nobody writes its eulogy either. What I'm trying to say, I guess, is that you should always take...

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