He watched as the world passed by never noticing, never taking a second glance. Ivan never saw the world full of people though, he only saw targets, h...ts, contracts. The three terms of his occupation. He was a hitman, plain and simple, he was hired to kill and so he killed. But like all men Ivan had the urge he couldnt fight, the one war men lose, he had the urge to stick his prick in some pretty thing and then disappear. He was done for the day surveying the area for his next hit, some bloke. He dreaded the appearance of Concertina, his fiancée. She was an emasculating little bitch sometimes. The little tart hated it when he touched that fucking piano with his tobacco stained hands. The young man took a puff of his square. He blew the smoke towards the window. He wondered why he was marrying Concertina. He damn sure didn’t love her. Oh, but her money was so tempting. ‘Is that him?’ asked Michele. She wondered if she needed drugs tonight. Concertina’s cheery disposition was a bit. More

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