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Anonymous
As he lay in the locker room, Greg looked at me with a tired, wandering eye. It was a sad sight, to see this ostensibly majestic thoroughbred for what he really was. Broken and helpless. And I knew at that moment it was time for him be put down.
I fed Greg some sugar cubes and led him out of the locker room. I walked him around the court for the last time, and with a tear in my eye, tied him to the basket post. As he sat there, staring plaintively at the rows of empty seats, I reached behind my back and pulled out grandpa's old revolver. Then I went up to old Greg and patted him on the butt one last time.
I couldn't bear to watch. I couldn't bear to breathe. And when the sound of the revolver rang it was as if the entire world stopped, as if hope itself had died.
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