on raising the stakes

and creating focus

We walked in the woods. He carried his. I had mine. When we did this, I did as instructed. I carried it exactly as I was told. With the barrel broken open I could see the brass charge of the twenty gauge shell.

It was my Christmas present from my Granddad - a Winchester Cooey, single shot shot gun. It was light to carry and with a slug, this twenty gauge, could bring down a deer.

I have odd feelings about my gun.

On one hand, it’s a connection to my past, my heritage. In my granddad’s day, you were expected to hunt. His father used to be a hunting guide. The forest was full of free meat. On top of that, it was a tool, useful around the farm.

On the other hand, there’s something creepy about having a gun. A gun is a lot like a chian saw - both can fuck a person up really badly really quickly. Sure, you can fuck a person up with a knife too. But chainsaws, guns, table saws, lathes - so many of the tools we use, if we get distracted, the consequences can be deadly.

I was a hyperactive four…