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I probably had knocked for ten minutes, my patience and aggravation growing with every pregnant moment of tension. Nagging doubts assailed my will, by determination prevailed as I recounted everything I had endured in the face of crime's nihilistic savagery. There is no where to go but forward when everything behind you is on fire. I noticed the music dampen considerably before the door cracked open.
A pair of narrow eyes stared at me unscrupulously, below those dull green orbs he wore the bitter scowl of a man in his mid twenties. He was bald, but his scalp was stained with black tribal designs. He wore a sweat soiled wife beater and a pair of black trousers. A pistol was unceremoniously wedged between his stomach and pant line.
The months toil's took their toll on me. A red and irritated crown of puffed up skin surrounded my eyes . My skin was pale and malnourished. A thick black hoodie encased my muscled form. I looked like a customer.
Printed from https://writing.com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1943660-Vigilante-War-in-Westbank/cid/1631303-All-War-is-Deception-Knock-on-the-Door-pretend
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