A-hab

A Colt Detective Special and a big folder are not what you want on you when the balloon goes up, but it beats hell out of being naked.

The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails whereon my soul is grooved to run. — Moby Dick (chapter 37)

Damn, she was hot, which was why I was at the mall, dressed like a mall person, thin shirt, clean black jeans, no boots.

Damn went to shit when I heard the irritating bark of the two two three. Never liked that caliber.