series2bk5.062

 

I took my twelve bore gun, rusting, from its dust-laden shelf and thrust it over my shoulder - sold on the idea that thus I'd bust the final crust of a girlfriend's resistance. The prissy conscience about participating in a hateful sport involving suffering to birds, wordless, I set aside, in what amounts to a bountiful, selfless exhibition of love. Another's vigorous blood lust suddenly triggers big in my veins, and I stand manfully panning the sky at the brink of my soldier’s trench, drenching the swooping enemy with bursts of grapeshot.      The battle won, there's only this to tell -      the killer instinct is alive and well!