Wes’s Life

I had been think­ing about this all day in my head, I felt I needed to write it down.

As he walked out of Ciatta’s Family Diner, he noticed the people’s eyes tear­ing through the back of his suit. Right­fully so, after what he just did they were prob­a­bly count­ing their bless­ings that they had not been the man that had wronged him. The bullet cas­ings still rolled around the floor, smoke still coming out in whisps where the lead had been rest­ing a few moments ago. The Colt 1911 had been casu­ally tossed aside. He knew he was inno­cent to all the right people, though he counted twenty mouths that would have tes­ti­fied oth­er­wise. They were no matter, if they spoke up they wouldn’t last long. They never did. He had never been in jail, nor would he ever be. Too many pay­roll checks came out of his wallet for him to spend time in that place.