The drunk sheriff in alfalfa town echoed the impatient noise of his old wife and the sound of beating pots and pans. He opened his sleepy eyes, grabbed a corner of the curtain and pulled it. It was still dark outside. He didn''t know whether it was morning before dawn or there was some time at night.

    When his throat was dry and cracked, it was like something was tearing his throat. He hummed uncomfortable twice, sat up from the bed and put on his slippers. I turned on a dim bedside lamp and looked down at the clock on the bedside table. It''s twelve o''clock in the evening. After looking at it for about twenty seconds, he picked up the clock and wound it up. The clock ticked again to perform its duties.

    Thirst and headache are the disadvantages of cheap privately brewed wine. He stood up with his hands on the bed, went to the table, picked up the cup and looked up, but he didn''t pour out even a drop of water. In his gray eyes, there was a kind of grumpy thing spreading. The nagging and dissatisfied complaints of his old wife in his ears made his head more painful, and the sound of pot basin collision was unbearable. Gasping for breath, he took the shotgun cross hung on the wall at the head of the bed and rushed out of the bedroom.

    It was not an ornament, but the owner of the room treated the two shotguns as ornaments.

    kitchen?

    No,

    Toilet?

    No,

    When the sheriff came to the living room, he saw a figure standing in the corner. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. The bullet whirled and roared out of the muzzle of the gun. At the same time, it also led to a small piece of white fog. With a bang, something was broken, and the figure slipped slowly against the wall and onto the floor. The sound of nagging and complaining disappeared in an instant, and the whole person seemed to return to peace.

    The sheriff shook and walked over, subconsciously saying some incomprehensible words. He went to the figure, squatted down, touched the bullet torn floor, and looked alert to other places.

    "I''ll find you!" the sheriff coughed. "I swear!"

    He went to the kitchen, held the faucet and turned on the switch. A stream of water with a faint fishy smell poured into his mouth. He sucked greedily until he was full. Then he scolded and returned to the bedroom, threw himself into bed again and fell into a coma.

    The moonlight shone in through the window. On the cabinet in the living room, in a black-and-white photo frame, there was a very gentle looking woman smiling at all those who looked at her.

    Early the next morning, the curtain opened by him in the middle of the night could not block the power of the sun''s enthusiasm. In the dazzling light, the sheriff raised his hand to block the sun and slowly woke up. His brain was blank. He glanced at the shotgun in his hand and turned to hang it on the head of the bed.

    He is seriously ill, but few people know. Many people think he is an alcoholic and will never wake up. But only those who know him well know that he just uses alcohol as a drug.

    He rubbed his face. Bean''s eye excrement hurt his cheeks. He walked to the mirror of the wardrobe without expression. He seriously changed into a police uniform representing justice and justice, put on a police badge, paid a very standard salute in front of the mirror, and left the bedroom and home.

    Before leaving home, he had not forgotten to take a bottle of privately brewed inferior wine from the table. It was the kind brewed by the family. The degree was a little higher than ordinary low alcohol wine and lower than those private wines of big factories.

    Rudely bit off the lid and took a big bite. Just as he was about to go out, he was pushed back.

    "Look, who is this, Mr. kesma!", the sheriff''s emphasis was a little high, and the surprise in his eyes flashed away, replaced by a deep defense.

    Mr. kesma''s unsmiling, rigid face, every muscle is like an artist''s sculpture, and even a slight tremor has not occurred. He took off his round hat and put it on the hanger. After looking around the room, he shook his head, went to the dirty rattan chair in the living room, overturned everything on the ground, and then sat on it.

    "What are you doing here?" the sheriff put the wine back on the table and sat opposite Mr. kesma with a gloomy face. "Have you forgotten the agreement between us? None of us would take the initiative to contact others if it wasn''t for the moment of life and death!"

    It''s incredible that Mr. kesma shrugged his shoulders, but what''s more incredible is that he shouted a name that doesn''t exist in the town, "Walter..."

    "Shut up, that''s not my name!" the sheriff angrily made an offensive gesture, but after seeing Mr. kesma''s calm eyes, the whole person became stiff and sat back, "no, I''m not Walter. Without this person, please call my name ''Johnson'', Mr. kesma!"

    Mr. kesma escaped a delicate metal box from his pocket and took two cigarettes, one in his mouth and the other to Johnson. He took out his exquisite sterling silver lighter, lit a cigarette for himself, and then looked at Johnson coldly with his chin raised slightly. If you are a stranger, you may be angered by Mr. kesma''s attitude at this time, at least not too happy. But Johnson knew it was a way for Mr. kesma to express his vanity.

    Since decades ago, he has been like this, showing off everything he has in this annoying way!

    "I know you have a good son, the whole town knows, but so what?" Johnson took the lighter from Mr. kesma''s hand, lit a cigarette for himself, took a deep breath and played with the sterling silver lighter. "It has nothing to do with me. Listen, I don''t want to get into trouble, but I don''t want to get into trouble, okay?"

    Mr. kesma spit a faint smoke and flicked the ash. The snow-white ash fell to the ground. After the impact, it broke into several pieces, and then the wind from the door blew away. As before, he said calmly and indifferently, "we are friends!"

    When Mr. kesma said this sentence, Sheriff Johnson''s body obviously trembled. This sentence once became a nightmare for people and often made those who heard this sentence unable to sleep at ease. But it is clear that today he is not the Party of "justice" to listen to this sentence and this voice from the highest angle.

    There was a struggle in his eyes, the muscles on his cheeks trembled frequently, the sweat ran down against his hair, his lips trembled, he couldn''t hold the cigarette, and half of the cigarette slipped gently to the ground.

    "What do you want me to do?"