its always too late
He walked into his house, dripping wet and cold from the rain. His wet and dirty boot prints decorated by the water dripping off his self, followed him till the door. A thin streak of light from the door crack cast his shadow to be looped over the length of the room as he stepped in. He somehow felt the dark and lonely room represented his life. As he was removing his cold, wet dress, he made a passing glimpse at his service revolver he just placed on his dresser, he remembered what his mentor, Mr. S-, a senior official he worked with, once said, “There were times in my life that revolver looked really friendly to me, the point is…” Mr.S- always had a point to make, not quite like him, for him, everything was pointless. For a moment there, he forgot he wanted to slip into the comfort of warm clothes, he stood there – naked and cold, unaware of both, and involuntarily lit up a cigarette.