By A Mystery Man Writer
The postman handed it to me as if it were a broom. I tore a fingernail on the brown wrap over the long cardboard box. Inside, a spanking-new pump-action shotgun gleamed from folds of oiled paper. The warm walnut came to cheek eagerly, bead bright at the end of the sleek barrel. Shick-a-tick! Oh boy! Read More
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