My sister's ex-boyfriend's family owned a gun shop. He and I went out the backyard one day and fired off a pee shooter into a can. Only time I've shot one.
This is different.
This was a .357 Revolver Smith and Wesson (which presumably are rotting in Hell). This thing had a monster kick. And it did make you feel...powerful. Powerful and angry.
It was not until I released the shells that I felt normal again. Something was really churning in my brain. The fact that this thing is typically pointed at another human being and NOT a paper target crept in my mind. The awful awful primal urge to end someone's life for which amounted to $17.99 a bag of shells. It's that easy to do.
The place smelled like fireworks. Which is what it felt like too. A strange cold place, similar to a sex shop or a bowling alley. I could smell stale smoke somewhere. Can you imagine lip'ing a lit smoke and firing guns. That's America.
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