But Julia
wasn't home, so he couldn't warn her that he had had (as she would
describe it) a vague impression of imminent danger that only sad,
smelly, old Uncle Justin could perceive.
Put that way, perhaps it was best that no one had answered. Justin
scratched his scalp and decided to have a beer. He harrumphed quietly,
then turned around.
To his shock (but only mild surprise), there was a balding man with a
clipboard standing in his corner taking notes. J.J felt paralyzed for
a moment, until his anger regained the upper hand, and he reached down,
opened the third drawer under the phone, and pulled out a loaded
revolver.
The Lab Coat Man, weary, almost to the last of his forms (a pink 2D
with carbons) wished he had could have arranged to appear in a sauna
somewhere in darkest Finland, but resolutely kept noting all he was
able until he realized somewhere between checkmarks that Justin Nelson
was pointing a gun right between his eyes. At first, he wanted to flip
to a red 1A. Somewhere on a 1A there was a box relevant to imminent
personal danger. But then, he understood in the microseconds he had
left that Justin's finger was pulling the trigger, which was pulling
back the hammer, which would imminently fire the bullet in a more or
less straight line directly into his tired, balding skull.
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