It’s almost noon and you haven’t shot anyone yet.

You want to make sure your Beretta still works.

You’re behind someone on an escalator and they’re just riding it instead of walking.

Your wife bought you thirty-two shotgun shells for Christmas and you’ll be good and goddamned if you’re not using each and every one of them. She even paid extra to have your initials engraved. You don’t deserve that woman.

It’s Monday, or possibly another day. You’re not really a calendar guy.

You completely lost track of who is a doctor and who is a mobster disguised as a doctor. Or, wait, wasn’t it the police officers who were disguised as doctors? Whatever, fuck it, blam blam blam blam blam.

Everybody sees that you’re holding a baby and they’re like, “Well, if he’s holding a baby I think we can safely assume he will not be participating in this shootout,” which, ahaha, do I have some shitty news for you, my guy.

They just came running out of a door, and you’ve already shot everybody else who has come running out of that door. You can’t just stop now.

They were wearing the same color shirt as the person you were trying to shoot. Or maybe they weren’t. It all happened pretty fast.

You’re swinging from a rope during your one-man raid at a mobster-controlled warehouse and you can’t really justify doing all of that without also firing a submachine gun.

By the time you remembered you’re a pacifist you had already shot everyone.

The End

“Put the babies in a safe place!” is a line in Hard Boiled. That doesn’t relate to the above bit, but if would be remiss if I didn’t write it down somewhere.