Back in the day I lived in a podunk rednickish suburb and went to a podunkish redneck school. This was Texas, mid 70s, think Dazed and Confused and you have it dead on. Needless to say there were plenty of gun owners. One day I was riding around with one of them — we were all just starting to get our driver’s licenses so driving anywhere was fun and cool — when my buddy asked me to open his glove compartment. A dark bundle fell out and I heard a snap, it sounded exactly like a bullwhip cracking. There was a gentle spritz of moisture across my legs and some dark droplets hit the kick panel to my right. I looked down baffled, it took a slow count of ten before it hit me, I had just been shot. [Read more…]