Opens his hand, reads his name, grabs the bottle & swallows again. Thinks of the wife he's left behind, touches the photo & closes his eyes. Thinks of the time where he walked from the street. Under the light & killed a man dead. A chro dearg, stad do bhualadh, t m gan dchas (my red heart stop beating, I am without hope). Whiskey burned memories come crashing to the floor. For each one that's gone there's twenty-five more that'll burn him & crush him right through to the core. He's filled with the thoughts of those gone before. He opens his mouth & all that comes out is a fractured song from a fractured heart. He grabs the bottle & swallows again, picks up the blade that's singin his name.
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