![]() ![]() Three pounds of pressure on the trigger would drop the hammer onto the primer, igniting the 4.5 grains of smokeless gunpowder. Thumbing back the hammer of my snub nose Smith & Wesson. ![]() The gun was on my dresser and if I had any aspirin they were all the way in the bathroom. ![]() How did my life get this fucked? If I don’t need anyone, why am I so lonely? At least I like to think it was that deep, fact was I had a bone numbing hangover, a throbbing head and a fur covered tongue. At night while the Monster roared through the thin walls of our bungalow, I would pull that thought up and let it comfort me like a warm blanket.Īs an adult I have found that a barrel in your mouth forces you to pause, take a moment, ask that all important question. Like those vests divers wear that fill with air from a CO2 cartridge and pull them to the surface. I was six years old the first time I honestly considered suicide, not as some cry for help, touchy huggy bullshit. There is nothing quite like the cold taste of gun oil on a stainless steel barrel to bring your life into focus. ![]()
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