Where The Bullet Lands
I suddenly wake up from the nightmare. I rub the haziness out of my eyes and grab the bottle of whiskey sitting next to my bed. I take a big swig and stand up. My room is dusty and as rundown as you get. It's 1881, I am 16, a drunk and couldn't stay away from trouble if my life depended on it, which it does, and I am...
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