• sweeney

    Fiction: The Night Guard

    It had rained all day, and in the late evening mist still rose from the pavement. This made Stan’s job harder. More room for error: distraction, misplaced evidence, footprints. So much more could go wrong when the world was sopping wet. Stan knew there was no room for error. He usually transported the bags himself, and saw no need to involve anyone else this time. Pulling up to the warehouse, he slammed the gear shift a little too jerkily, the restored Chevelle jolting forward. He yanked out the key and rose from the car. Stan tried to blend in with the wet night. Black leather jacket, dark jeans, black leather…


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