Revenge is best served cold, they say, and they are right.
He stared out of the window – not a soul in sight – not surprising when you think how many shots he fired in such a few joyous minutes. Cowboy-wise, he blew the smoke from the muzzle.
They’ll be here any moment, he knew, breaking down the door, demanding he lies on the floor, handcuffing him, reading him his rights.
He knew the jury would be on his side – those Friday critics had trashed his words, written cruel things, said worse things offline.
Tonight’s gonna be busy for St Peter.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ weekly 100 word challenge, found here.