The Wistful Witness
The wisteria hung low over the window frame. It was thick. Purple. Heavy with rain. I watched it drip. One drop. Then another. The glass was cold against my forehead. My hand rested on the hilt of my sidearm. It was a Smith and Wesson. Model 19. Blue steel. Cold. I knew the weight of it. I knew the trigger pull. Seven pounds. I knew the recoil. I knew the sound. I did not know what I was...
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