Abe, joints creaking, stooped to tie his loafers. Fall wind through trees brought a chill to his seventy-nine year old bones.
He checked his watch. Only a few more minutes, he mused.
His young ad executive jogged into view. Ah, he’s right on time.
Click. Bang. Slump. Blood.
Job well done.
Next target.
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My attempt at 55 fiction
