"Screw this", John cursed silently as he paced impatiently through the deserted park.
He clumsily lit a cigarette and took a deep puff. He slowly exhaled the noxious fumes while he tried to gather his thoughts.
John only smoked when he is anxious. Or when he has too much to drink.
This time he is sober.
He found an empty bench and semi dove into it. He felt like crying as he bowed his head and ran his fingers through his hair.
He reached inside his jacket and tapped the colt .45 in its inside holster.
" .45 is good", he mused to himself. As he let his mind drift to how puny a .38 or a 9mm is.
He knew guns are of little help with what he is against with.
But he allowed himself the comfort of having his trusty 'ol companion with him.
He has always been an escapist. Aside from a couple of friends, he loved books more than people.
He figured early in life that people are shallow. They often complain about their jobs, or their family, or life in general. People never figured out that they are in an inescapable dilemma.
They might as well shut up about it.
He smirked and flicked his cigarette to a nearby bush.
"At least you have no idea that the world is going to end!", John shouted.
His voice echoed across the park and the nearby high rise buildings.
"The fuckers are still asleep. It's the end of the world as they know it, and they're all absent" he thought to himself.