He walked in, beak down dressed in black track-suit, eyes tracking from side to side. Hand hidden - gun tight - ready. He sat back watching the news pulling free a ringed scab from his hand - cigarette burn. It bled.
One bin-bag full of cartoned - Silk-cut- Lambert & Butler, Embassy etc. A month in bliss - smack, without worry, without need- paradise on the nod on the cook. Pull it off, like the formentioned scab but without the blood.
The shop was tiny - empty - Immediately! The shop keeper pounced vaulting across the counter - machete in hand opening up the gunman in gallon waves of blood, causing both to slip in a huddle.
A gunshot rang out through the shopkeepers head - he fell back slack. Steaming blood filled the place scattered newspapers absorbed some of the blood like huge sanitary pads. CCTV flickered. He pulled himself up and opened the till trying in vain not to bloody up the cash, he was pouring blood, his face white as paper. He filled his bag and tied while staring at the smoke ring coming from the shopkeepers head.
At this point he collapsed, in slow-motion into the cigarette display. Dying of massive blood loss.
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