The almost silence is engulfing this night. The one lonely light above him hums irreverent to the solemnity of the room's long shadows. He sits, hands clenched into a tight fold on the table before him, the table that is almost barren. The almost silence, trembling slightly with the buzz of the black fly and rumble of cars and the purring light, swells in his ears like the cascading waves of an oceanic storm. Needing to end it, he unfolds his hands and reaches forward.
The almost silence is broken by the pop of the gunshot and the crash of his bloody head on the table.
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