The bag is leaning to one side—my side—and displaying a number of items tucked neatly between the brown-lined interior of it. The zipper isn't opened to its fullest, stuck at the lining fabric three-fourth of the way. Even so, I can still clearly see what's inside. A roll of bright red and blue nylon rope sits next to a pair of black leather gloves. A large wallet is tucked to one side, between a few bundles of neatly folded clothes. But what must have caught everybody's attention is the gleaming silver object sitting on those neatly folded clothes. A medium-sized handgun seems to be staring back at everyone in the room, except for its owner.
I've seen a few or more guns in my life, mostly during my time on the streets running around with druggies or thieves with Karlie by my side. But this is the first time I'm looking at one up close, so close I'm tempted to reach out, switch the safety off, and pull the trigger—with no particular target in mind.
