Haircuts and Machine guns

I would say that it’s hard to be a man and not know what machine gun you would like to fire, and when presented with a wall full of guns in a gun shop somewhere in outer Vegas wearing only a yellow tee-shirt, shorts and a pair of green flip-flops, I know my dress sense is chosen by Fido the rabid dog, but know exactly what gun I want to fire.

“I’d like to use the MP5”.

“Use sir? We only shoot here sir”

10 minutes later I’m choosing what target id like to use, ranging from the image of Osama Bin Laden to the image of Mexicans with knives or bizarrely what looks like your average gardener with a hose. I opt for the image that goes with the gun, a terrorist wearing a balaclava in a UK Embassy which is so out of fashion but in psyche of every 30 something’s subconscious.
I’m introduced to Derek and assistant at the range and shop, who shouts in my face at close quarters as were both wearing ear muffs covering me in spit, and I immediately notice that hes also armed and my heart rate rises. What the fuck am I doing here? Its saying with every beat.

We walk into a chamber with two Japanese tourists already firing an assault rifle and taking pictures of each other. BOOM BOOM, BOOM, hahaha, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM… this place is a fucking mad house, this state is a fucking madhouse and im a fucking nutter being here!

“Now son, Derek shouts brandishing the MP5, you might have got in here with a haircut like that but do you think you’d have got through customs with one of these?!” Were both laughing this is good, but I can’t help thinking I’m laughing through my ass.

“Now when I hand you this gun, continues Derek after running through how to shoot, it will be loaded and ready to go”. He begins to hand me the gun and then it happens. A moment. Very slight, but definitely there, hidden but not completely hidden in his smile. It is a moment of no return where he is handing me a loaded rifle that can kill him and myself and no one could stop me. Like were heading to a car crash in slow motion and there are no breaks. It is a moment in that corner of his mouth that I see and I think, 'He’s seen this before.

I freeze, laugh and hold the gun. It’s cold to touch and surprisingly light or is it that my adrenaline is flowing that it feels light? I shoot one then three then ten, then twelve then two and two more and click, click, click. It was that easy? Jesus it was so easy, too easy. I fire the second and last clip quicker this time and chat with Derek, who has friends in the Navy Seals who tells him about action and guns, and I think this guy is lonely and can’t wait to leave. Maybe I have an overbearing sadness from the drop in adrenaline, or maybe the it's realization I'm left with that I feel sorry for Derek who probably sleeps with a gun as his only companion and friend. I put the shot terrorist in the boot of my car whos rolled up and contained only by an elastic band and drive off into the Neon night.