They don’t just kill. They transform. When the first shot fires — the mind trembles. When the second hits — the heart burns. And the old you… disappears. No blood. No drama. Just becomes a layer of dust on the boots of your new “self.” We are three. He — in a wide-brimmed hat, a shadow in a coat, his face unseen. She — with a bob cut, armor, and guns strapped to her hips. Between them — Limo. The Rusty Limo. A dog with a wet nose and a smoked dream. We don’t fight. We don’t seek revenge. We simply shoot — with love. A bullet to the mind. A bullet to the heart. And you are no longer the same. And you stand, unhidden. Let the rain wash it all away. Let only you remain. The true you.
