Jimi couldn’t help himself. He always laughed when the rains came. The lightening and the thunder rolling after it like a puppy dog chasing its masters heels. It was hysterical.

He was laughing now, a slight under his breath chuckle. The wind-whipped misty rain of spring coated the barrel of his nine with ephemeral diamonds. Below him he could see her running, she slipped in between crates and boxes. Here she paused and looked furtively around, but never up….never up, they never. Looked. Up. Jimi’s chuckle became peeling thunder across the warehouse as his  nine laughed with him. Once, twice, thrice.

He flung two silver discs over the catwalk railing and melted into night.


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