It was a time of uncertainty. Was just another worn-down tyre thrown to the burning pile. Directionless. Heavy at the chest. Could do with some advice. Heard there was a guy hanging out by the crossroads. A good a plan as any. Too much time inside my own head. Could lend a fresh perspective. Set me on the right path.

Headed out of town. A long dirt road. Wasn’t five minutes before I saw it: the Queue. Must’ve been a 100 persons long. Teenager, blonde with train-track braces, handed out handwritten tickets. I was #291. Last in line. The man was named Shamus. Queue this long? Must’ve been good. 

Hours passed. With each step I got closer, the more of conversations I heard. Sounded smart enough. What was his motive for being out here? What’d he have to gain? 

Queued from dusk till around 2AM. Had nothing particular that needed doing. Became next in line. Expected to be told that he was tired. That he couldn’t see me. Got lucky. Passed him my ticket. Got to have my turn. Noticed he stood by the body of someone. Throat slashed. Blood’d turned black in the moonlight. No one had asked about him.

“What do you need?” he asked. Wasn’t materialistic. Assumed many had asked for something from him. 

“Nothing. Direction. Something to do” I replied. 

Saw him reach inside his coat. Expected a cigarette pack or a hip flask. Pulled out painkillers. Looked him over. Dark patches under eyes. A Slow sway. A light slur to his words. Black tipped fingers. He was tired. Turned, saw least another 100 waiting their turn. Stroked the heavy at my chest. 

“Ain’t your master, you have to take what you want.” He then swallowed a half dozen painkillers. Wasn’t a great answer. Expected better. “Are we done?” he asked. 

“Yeah, we’re done.” I took out the heavy at my chest, cocked it and emptied the full magazine into his head. Fell hard. Landed on top of slashed throat. Another burning tyre. 

Turned and faced the queue. “Next number” I called.