A slow hit beats a fast miss. Every time.

I just wanna shoot my gun.

No. I don’t mean shoot at people. Y’all really watch way too much tv.

Not at critters. I am content going to the store. Don’t need to do that huntin’ thing.

I just wanna go down to the local gun range, put on my ears (that’s what we call ear protection, they look like ear muffs-if you ain’t Yankee you may not get that) and hang a hand sized piece of cardboard on a hook. Crank it out to 10 feet away.  Someplace around chest/head height. Depends on who you might envision.

No. I don’t envision any one. It is card board. Point of aim surface. Simple concept.

I just wanna work on my trigger press pressure. My grip. Recoil control. Breathing. Stance. Draw. Reload. Hole in hole.

I’m really a very simple man.

I love my wife.

I work for my money.

I want to shoot my gun.

But I can’t. The range is closed. My wife needs  a ride home from her job in eighteen minutes from now. And I must rest before tomorrows work.

Then, Friday afternoon, after all my chores are done, I will haul ass, lead and brass to the Bang Palace.

Us shooting enthusiasts are a patient sort.

Ahh, hot shell casings. Arc ejecting off to my right. I can see it now.

I just wanna… Okay, Nick, saddle up and go git yer woman.

Yeeee Haw!!