Tonight I have the intense desire to wield a pump-action shot­gun. Not that I have any vio­lent inten­tions toward any­one. I just want to feel the heft of the gun, to snug the stock into my shoul­der. I want to hear the roar of the first shot break the silence of the rain-soaked wood­land, and feel the acrid smell of pow­der burn­ing in my nos­trils. I want to pump out the spent shell as I leap to my feet and break from my place of con­ceal­ment, slam­ming the next round into the cham­ber with the upstroke as I charge up the hill into action.

I prob­a­bly should­n’t share things like that.

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