Short Story Opening - The Shooter

Hello all.

Here's the opening to a short story I wrote recently. Don't know whether it's good or not.


Lloyd Emeric sat on a park bench, waiting.
   He had a half smoked cigarette in his left hand, one of hundreds that lay scattered around his worn red sneakers and heavily faded blue jeans. His other hand was hidden in the pocket of his orange parka, greedily holding a .9mm semi-automatic pistol that would have shone with sweat in the sunlight. But the sun was four hours away and it wasn’t time yet.
    He had been waiting all night long, waiting and smoking. Daydreaming because the real ones wouldn’t come and neither would the time. It felt like it would never be time. Never be ready and he’d be sitting here for hours, days, months or years just waiting.
    That’d be bad; he’d run out of cigarettes.

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