It was eighteen hours after society had collapsed.
I was running from a mob. I managed to climb up a fire
escape and pull it up behind me, but it was only going to buy me a few minutes.
I climbed into the apartment and there he was.
I probably would have been star struck, and told him who he
was and how I’d seen him on TV, but he was dead so I didn’t. Instead, I
chuckled as I began to take his gun from his cold, dead hands.
Shame rigor mortis still held him, might have survived
otherwise.
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