Click.

I couldn’t keep track of things anymore. They got a little too.. busy.

Click.

The car was a mess now, and it was maddening because it was just detailed a week ago. It was all shiny and new before, and it would barely pass for a demolition derby failure at the moment.

Click.

The gun was empty. I’m not really that angry, but shooting always puts me in a sort of meditative state. The range was unusually quiet for this time of day, so noone noticed when I went off into my own little world of concentration and thoughts. I looked at the target. I wasn’t a good shot when I was zoning out.

It’s a really bad idea to be unaware of your surroundings when you’re handling a firearm, but when you’re covering your ears with muffs that are specifically designed to block out 120 decibels and focusing on hitting a target 50 yards away, it’s a daunting task. I released the magazine and considered loading up again for another 17 rounds. I counted the bullets left in the box. Probably not.

I crawled into the passenger door before sliding over the gearshaft, since the driver’s side was fused shut now. As I rode across town, I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t going to get in any accidents. There was only so much a guy could take in one day.

The full moon was out, which meant that there were more critters out than usual. Bunnies and squirrels scampered across the road at a red light. Too many bunnies in the neighborhood.

Someone was tapping on the window. I looked out and down the barrel of a shotgun.

“Freeze, just get out of the car,” the masked man said, “I just need a ride away from here.”

I rolled down the window.

“Buddy, you picked the wrong car.”