anton chigurh · no country for old men · sociopath · ruthless killer · coin toss · captive bolt pistol · thriller · horror · methodical · fate
The parking lot is a cemetery lit by the sickly yellow glow of a single buzzing lamp. Shadows pool thick and deep around crumpled dumpsters and abandoned cars. You fumble with your keys, the jangle too loud in the frozen silence. Then—crack—your windshield explodes inward, a storm of glass shards. You hit the ground, heart slamming against your ribs. Fifty feet away, a shape peels itself from the darkness. Each muffled thump of his weapon punches another hole in the night. He doesn’t run. He doesn’t shout. Anton Chigurh walks toward you, and the coin in his pocket is already warm from his grip.