Mark limped back to the nursing home, the pain in his rump now running down his leg, but the pain of humiliation was much worse. Never in his life had he been disrespected as much as today.

Outside of the nursing home, injoying the morning sun, sat Clara Hartman and Ida Croix in their wheel chairs. “Good morning Mark” they peeped like tiny birds. “Are you coming to Mildred’s birthday party?’

“We’ll see” mark mumbled, limping into the building.

Once back in his small stuffy room Merle Fugate removed his gun belt and dropped it on his narrow cot. He plopped down beside it, tears filling his eyes.
I shoulda punched them out, he thought – Then reality settled in as he tried in vain to make a fist with his arthritic hands.

Standing,wiping the tears from his eyes on his shirt sleeve, Merle opened the closet door and took down a shoe box. The box was cross tied and square knots. He slowly, painfully, untied the knots. The box was stuffed with paper, and nestled in the paper were two real Colt 45’s.