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We rowed across the Hudson at dawn. My friend William P. Van Ness signed on as my #2
He examined his gun with such rigor? I watched as he methodically fiddled with the trigger
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory. Is this where it gets me, on my feet, several feet ahead of me? I see it coming do I run or fire my gun or let it be?
There is no beat, no melody. Burr, my first friend, my enemy. Maybe the last face I ever see. If I throw away my shot, id this how you'll remember me? What if this bullet is my legacy! Legacy!
I strike him right between his ribs I walk towards him, but I am ushered away. They row him back across the Hudson I get a drink
We are both by his side
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