Burroughs knocked on the darkened doorway maybe it was a dream maybe not he pulled a .32 snub-nose and pointed it I tried to wake up but all that held my attention was the black hole that held my destiny at the moment I swear I could see the round head of the bullet poised in its chamber ready to fly into the center of my skull at the slightest twitch of that wrinkled old yellow finger but he was calm and didn’t look particularly homicidal as he hummed Rossini’s overture he eased he hammer down with his thumb and asked me for a cigarette I told him I knew that he quit smoking years ago "I’m hungry" he said and I couldn’t argue and gave him a cigar but he shot me and said "I’m not a god, you asshole, just a dead, tired, old man." 1997 Kevin Crone