Yesterday, I took a ride to a college town, about 30 miles from me.
I went there to try and find a used book store that I had once been to, and to visit the town's bicycle shop ('cause we don't have one, in the Land of Enlightenment). Well the book store wasn't there, but the bike shop was, and on my way back home, I stopped at a gun shop. The place
was crowded and as I was parousing the wares I came across an old
Remington Model 514 .22 single-shot rifle. It was in pretty good shape and with a price on it of only $59.00, I was considering buying it. There
was only one problem with it, it was a bolt action, and some durn hillbilly replaced the bolt handle with a screw! It was certainly functional, and had a kind of bubba charm to it, but... something inside
of me said not to go for it. It wasn't so much the cosmetics, I could've probably scrounged up a replacement bolt for it, but rather, well, I seem
to have discovered that I'm not really that much into guns anymore.
Oh, I'm not opposed to them, and what I'd really want to get is out of my reach at the moment; I suppose that I've finally given up on that part of my life. I used to always have guns around, and I always would go out on my days off and do some plinking. Nowadays, not so much. I much prefer to keep quiet as I go wandering, I guess that's why I've taken to the sling in a big way. As I've gotten older, things have changed, and I'm not so keen to break the silence with gunfire anymore. I would hope that
my change of heart is a sign of maturity and not because of the whims
of a hoplophobic society. In any event, I must be getting old...
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