Poetic

He worked on the loading dock, nine years. Always on time, stayed late if asked. Maybe stretched a few of his breaks, but not too often and not too long. He always got the work done. Nine years. Never complained.

Wasn't a quiet guy, or a loner. He'd laugh at the jokes, sometimes tell one of his own. Didn't go in with the rest of the guys to buy Lotto tickets, but wasn't unfriendly about it. Would bum a light, but not a cigarette. Just an ordinary guy who did his job. Nine years.

Then he hurt his back shifting palettes on the dock. Filed for worker's comp, but the company said he'd been told not to shift the palettes by himself. He admitted it was true, they'd told him that. But they also told him to get them shifted. What was he supposed to do?

Worker's comp...denied. Two days later he shot the place up. Surrendered to the police without a fuss. Nine years. Nine millimeter. Nine victims.

Victim's families sued. Won a bundle. Company went bankrupt.