but there was nothing good on television.
a couple of days before, he had gone to his local branch library. he had taken out a biography of winston churchill and a biography of bob marley.
he had also purchased a couple of used paperback novels for fifty cents each - “the poisoned chocolates case” by anthony berkley, and “the fates” by thomas tessier.
but the biographies of winston churchill and bob marley did not tell him anything he did not already know from reading other biographies of them, and he put them aside.
he was wondering whether to try one of the novels , and was thinking about how sad life was, and how mysterious, and how there did not seem to be much point to it, when he heard a knock on the door.
who can that be, he wondered. he did not know many people - none at all, outside of his workplace - and nobody ever came to visit him.
he got up and opened the door.
a man he had never seen before stood there.
bradley looked at the man. neither of them said anything.
bradley noticed that the man had a gun in his hand.
why would he want to shoot me, bradley wondered.
the man shot bradley, killing him instantly.
bradley never knew why.