Two of us. One room. One shot. Blood dripping from one face, tears dripping from the other.
My therapist told me that violence never solves anything, and that it’s not good to hide or bury things.
I told her that my former business partner would still be suing me if I hadn’t smashed in his head with a clawhammer. I would be in prison if his body and the hammer weren’t hidden in the trunk of a car buried in a lake.
I keep hearing gun-nuts say, “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.” They haven’t seen the man who’s lying on my porch with half of his face missing. I couldn’t have done that with a hair-dryer.
- for Kathy Hayes
The party was in my neighbor’s backyard. Some drunk-ass I didn’t even know started a fight with me. He punched me in the face, but he couldn’t hit for shit, and I wasn’t even pissed at first. As other people dragged him away, I was going to let it go…
But then I saw the blood from my nose had ruined my Hilfiger. It was the coolest shirt, and this was the first time I’d worn it. I paid three bucks for it at Out of the Closet. I paid a lot more than that for my Glock. I pulled, aimed and got my money’s worth.
As the noose was placed around his neck, he mumbled a prayer, even though he did not believe there was anyone to pray to. Then the trapdoor opened beneath him, and there was no one to pray.
The man who broke in was young enough to be my grandson. He taunted me about my age, laughed at me for being too old to walk or even stand up straight. He was correct. But I wasn’t too old to squeeze a trigger four times.
It was May Day, and my boss was being as snide as usual. It didn’t occur to him that everything he said and did was based on the assumption that I hadn’t brought an automatic weapon to work with me.
As I waited for the light to change, a cop car pulled up behind me. They could see my SUPPORT THE POLICE bumper sticker. They couldn’t see the cop I had shot to death a mile away. The light turned to green.
I’ve never felt like I killed him. All I did was point the Glock at him and tell him to give me the money or I’d shoot him. He didn’t do it, so I squeezed the trigger. It seems more like a choice he made, and not much to do with me.