The Perfect Shot

It’s a chilly night in the middle of autumn. The wind howls outside and a dog barks in the

distance. The town is silent except for the local bar at the edge of town. A warm light illuminates

from the windows and the sound of music fills the air.

A man walks into the bar in a beige suit and bowler hat. He orders a whiskey and finds a table in

the corner. He plops down, exhaustion filling his bones. Soon enough, another equally tired

looking man slides in on the other side of the table with his own drink. He glances at the guy

across the table, “Mind if I sit here?” he asks.

“No problem,” he responds with a wave of his hand.

The man nods before reaching into his coat pocket and conjuring a pipe. He fills it with tobacco

before lighting it. Smoke floats up and the pungent scent of tobacco mixes with the smell of

alcohol and sweat.

“So what brings you here?” The man lowers his pipe and puffs out smoke, addressing the man

across from him.

“Not much, just here to shoot the mayor,” he lowers his glass, swirling the contents, “how ‘bout

you?”

“Really?” Shock marred the feature of the man with the pipe, “Same here. I guess lots of people

here come with the same plan.”

The other nods before reaching out his hand, “John, pleasure to meet you.” The scent of

tobacco engulfed him as leaned over the table.

“Lawrence, pleasure to meet you too,” he responds with a firm handshake.

“Up for some cards, John?” Lawrence challenges once he pulls back.

“Why not? The night is young.” John replies, grinning.

The game starts quickly. With alcohol in their system, and a comfortable rhythm of cards, they

start talking.

“So you’re shooting the mayor huh. How you reckon you take the perfect shot?” John starts.

“Well… for starters, I usually use a tripod.”

“I use a bipod sometimes too.”

“I never thought of that, but stability is definitely important.” Lawrence contemplates before

setting his cards down.

“Oh definitely, and the angle has to be perfect. A little off and the shot is completely messed

up.”

“Of course! Being higher is better though. A clear shot with no people in the way. Lawrence

describes passionately, “Also gives a better escape route,” he adds on as a last minute thought.

 “Nah, I’d rather be closer. Gotta be up and personal and catch the exact moment. Plus, it lets

me see more details.” John creates a finger box, peering through it as he imagines his perfect

shot.

“Yeah, yeah. You know what’s the worst, when you’ve got everything lined up and your subject

moves!”

“Wildlife?”

“Sometimes, but mainly people.”

“That’s tough, but when you get the right shot, it's like everything clicks. There’s something

satisfying about getting the perfect shot.”

“Right! That feeling when you hit the bullseyes.”

“Bullsey-” John responds perplexed before brushing it off, “Not the way I would describe it, but

everyone has their different styles I guess. It's a tough job but one that pays well.”

Shrugging, Lawrence lets out a hearty laugh, “Of course, gotta pay the bills somehow. But one

missed shot, the client gets mad, and all the work for nothing. It's a demanding industry!”

“Sure is!” John agrees fervently as he offers his glass to Lawrence in cheers.

“To a perfect shot! Amen!” They cheer in unison clinking glasses.

The men continue in conversation, cards long forgotten. A feeling of mutual connection between

two strangers on a cold night. Little do they know, despite the similar terminology and

references, they worked in different fields of work.

The next morning as the Mayor walks out of the back entrance of the town hall after the town

meeting, two shots are made: one accompanied by the soft click of a camera, and the other by

a sound of a body hitting the ground.