Fred Wolf sat in his piece of shit car watching Albi and Kerryann leave The Watering Hole hand in hand. His left arm hung out of the driver's side window and in his hand, he held a chrome Glock 19 that was fully loaded. Just watching the young couple smiling and looking carefree made his blood pressure skyrocket damn near instantly. Lucky snot nose fucks, he thought to himself right before a chain of coughs that made his chest knock like a blown engine doubled him over his steering wheel. He covered his mouth with a rag until his coughing fit was over and then he leaned back in his car seat with an audible sigh of relief. He looked into the dingy rag and what he found made him wince. Clods of blood and a wad of lung tissue that looked like strawberry jelly filled the rag. The cancer was kicking his ass thoroughly, and he wondered what type of shit he was going to be coughing up by tomorrow. He dumped the contents of the rag out of the window and then balled up the bloodstained rag and put it into the breast pocket of his cheap button up shirt. Fred Wolf thought about his younger years and remembered how slow time seemed to pass when he was too young to do shit. Now that he was forty-five and terminally ill with lung cancer time seemed to be on crack and meth all at the same time. He leaned over, opened up his glove compartment with a shaky hand, pulled out a bottle of pills, thumbed the cap, and dry swallowed a few. Fred Wolf, who once was one of the most intimidating men that ever walked the earth, was now even scarier.