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Noir Fiction
Johnny Bullet
At the Very Far Away Ends of It All
Chapter 1 Page 7
Johnny Bullet
At the Very Far Away Ends of It All
Chapter 1 Page 7
Then I shook my head free of such fancy. Nonsense. It was a dog sleeping in the weeds at the roadside. My feet made a crunching noise of the graveled soil once more, as I walked into the town at the end of the road.
Perhaps a mile beyond the old man and his dog, I approached a ramshackle store, where it lurked to one side of the blacktop. It was a clapboard affair with a high facade. Faded letters named it simply 'Town Store'. I found it utterly uninspiring. Somehow, it suited me well.
I crossed its rutted dirt apron, and mounted the uncertain wooden steps to its high porch. The doorway was guarded by a rusted screen, which screeched frightfully when I pulled it open. I stepped inside, and squinted to define the gloom.
A dour woman stood at a counter, polishing a mug with a grimy rag. A man in a plaid coat sat at the lunch counter before her. While another tall, gaunt man stalked the aisles of the little store, the crease of his brow betraying his intent search for something.
They all turned to stare me to the register. The old woman continued with the rag and the mug, her mean little eyes fixed on mine.
Perhaps a mile beyond the old man and his dog, I approached a ramshackle store, where it lurked to one side of the blacktop. It was a clapboard affair with a high facade. Faded letters named it simply 'Town Store'. I found it utterly uninspiring. Somehow, it suited me well.
I crossed its rutted dirt apron, and mounted the uncertain wooden steps to its high porch. The doorway was guarded by a rusted screen, which screeched frightfully when I pulled it open. I stepped inside, and squinted to define the gloom.
A dour woman stood at a counter, polishing a mug with a grimy rag. A man in a plaid coat sat at the lunch counter before her. While another tall, gaunt man stalked the aisles of the little store, the crease of his brow betraying his intent search for something.
They all turned to stare me to the register. The old woman continued with the rag and the mug, her mean little eyes fixed on mine.
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