The black Formica countertop summoned me to relinquish its hold on an open bottle of scotch. My mouth dripped with desire as the pour filled an empty rocks glass to the brim. Several sips muted my thoughts. Cigarette ashes trailed me, my feet pounding the hardwood, shoulders scraping the hallway walls to the bedroom closet. The uniform snug as I pulled the shirt down. Belt, baton, and gun slid into their temporary homes.
“Time to go.”
| Author Gianni Franco | 