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Morning after morning, the same routine.
Locking himself in his office, he opens the top desk drawer and picks up the old revolver.
With trembling hands, he loads a bullet into the revolving barrel.
He points it at his temple, staring at the picture of her, his beloved wife who died years ago. The trigger gives under the pressure of his finger.
"Click.
The bullet hits the barrel without exiting.
He drops the gun, sobbing bitterly.
"Another day without meeting you, my love."
Russian roulette is lost again, postponing their reunion into eternity.
