#degramont

i’m not that guy anymore / you’re always that guy, john. it’s a conversation that lives inside his mind, burrowing itself into his brain synonymous with a parasite. [you can always run but you’ll never be free, not from the noose hung around your neck.] he thinks about it as the two men mimic each other’s actions: eyes aimed down the barrel of their pistols, heads a clear shot for either of them to make. uncertainty roams within the ambiance — who will leave this room alive? who will survive to see the sun rise another day and return to their home? [no wife, no home, no life; what is there to return to?] john breaks his silence, begrudgingly, the tone of voice settling on stolid. “ yeah. guess not. ” he’s here for one reason: grab a shovel, dig a deep hole, and bury the high table once and for all. sermons aren’t a necessity.