His car stands in the unlit layby, wipers battling torrential rain.
He counts the seconds on the dashboard clock, a cheap mobile in his clammy fist.
The faithless bitch deserved it.
Set to his home number, the dial tone echoes.
He smirks anticipating silence.
But she answers, sweet as syrup: Hello, darling.
He kills the call.
Headlights blind him.
The mobile rings, a male voice:
Change of terms, pal. She's worth better.
The bullet enters like a Tarantino movie viewed in slo-mo
Shattered glass and rain are wafting in
Life gushing out