Mini-story: Despair was the gun

It was an obnoxiously beautiful day, trite and insulting. Blue, hazy skies in a complex and fading gradient. A few streaks of lazy cloud dusted in for visual interest. Birds desperate to tell anyone and everyone who would listen. Heat making the tarmac seem to writhe. The kind of day where nature gives the middle finger to all human affairs, and people are still grateful for it. The analogue clock on the dashboard of the old grey Mercedes Benz pretended that elegance compensated for inaccur...