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Tomorrow Comes Today by C.S. Roberts

The barrel of the gun feels cold against my temple. I wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead. Like so many times before, my heart sinks in my boots. I lower the gun. Not today. There’s always tomorrow.




At thirty years of age, C.S. Roberts' midlife crisis is still ahead of him. He nevertheless has the urge to buy a ridiculously expensive car. Sometimes he tries, and sometimes successfully, to write something at csrobertsblog@blogspot.com.