Sentinel and Blade

In a dim-lit joint, where shadows dance, A stool and a knife, they had their chance. The stool, sturdy, with tales untold, The knife, sharp, its edge bold. The stool, a silent witness to the night's noir, Where whispers linger and secrets deploy. Perched in the corner, it held its ground, As the knife's glint flashed, a deadly sound. With a flick of the wrist, the knife arose, A dance of danger, where blood flows. But the stool, oh, it bore the weight, Of sins confessed and love's cruel fate. In this pulp fiction tale, where danger thrives, The stool and the knife, in shadows they strive. One a silent sentinel, the other a blade, Together they weave this dark arcade.