- Genre: Western
- Character: A trial lawyer
- Setting: Atlantic City Boardwalk
- Verbs: slither, masticate, interrogate
He stepped up onto the boardwalk, his boot heels pounding the wood planks as he stalked towards a lone figure leaning against the rail. He paused for a moment to feel the sea breeze on his face, and he glanced at the surf. He hated Atlantic City, so he was surprised to find himself enjoying the ocean.
He continued toward his prey, but the man addressed him without turning around:
“Why are you here? You know this town ain’t big enough for the two of us.”
“The moment you slithered into this dry gulch, I had a job to do, and I intend to do it.”
The leaning man turned and spat out a wad.
“You know, I shouldn’t chew that stuff. It’s bad for me. Interferes with my masticatin’. So what exactly are you going to do?”
The first man took a deep breath.
“Well, I aim to…”
Just then the man leaning against the rail whipped out a Colt Peacemaker, and shot. The other man grabbed his chest, and crumbled.
“Why’d you do that for?” he wheezed.
“Well, I reckon you were gonna do the same to me, am I right? And besides, this is a Western, and somebody has to get shot in a Western.”
“You snake skinned varmint! I’m a trial lawyer, fer Chrissake. I was just going to interrogate you. Now I’m definitely sending you my bill.”
With that, the first man gasped and expired.
The man leaning against the rail turned back towards the ocean.
“Sure is purty,” he sighed.