Hooper sighs as another local hard man, all muscles, scars and attitude, strides up the town hall steps.
Not long ago this man would have occupied a stool in one of the seedier taverns, or a bench in the drunk tank stinking of booze and other people’s blood.
More likely the former followed a few hours later by the latter.
He nods at the sheriff, who reluctantly hands the man a rifle.
“Good luck.”
“I won’t need it.”
Hooper watches the man leave, holding his weapon like a club.
Hooper sighs again.
They’ll be scraping up his bones tomorrow morning.
…
Find me (as HumpbuckleTales) on Mastodon
Read my daily 50 word stories in Humpbuckle Tales or on Hive or on Facebook
Find my 100 word tales right here
Drabble.Club by Felt.Buzz 