He was a merchant of watches. Eyes fixated, one on a stock ticker, the other hawking cops. Banking on bad investments, worshiping false profits: substituting dead men for a living God.
He felt his time was coming, every minute detail replaying nightly in his subconscious. Guilty as a dog: barked up the wrong tree and bit off more than he could swallow. That's why he sold watches- he always felt like he could keep extra time on his hands, somehow hoping to survive beyond his own fatalistic conception.
A suit-clad fox approached, prowling down the block. He knew how to find his higher power, his kept his name inscribed on his arms. 20 dollars was all he needed, to meet his spirit in the sky; he could see it in her eyes.
"Follow me miss, I have something special for pretty ladies like you." He guided her down an alley, mistaking her resistance for lethargy. As he took his jangling jacket off she drew her snub 32 and shot him in the heart.
He hit the ground before his jacket dropped. All he could feel was a seething warmth encapsulating his soul. He expected the light to come next, but only found a
finite darkness falling over his periphery. His body grew colder. He touched his chest and saw his own thick blood swallow his finger, that was when he realized all the watches in the world wouldn't afford him a second longer. Slowly his eyes closed, hoping for a second chance.
But second chances are hard to come by, and his first impression left its mark.
The end.
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