Halfway through a box of lavish bismuth shot, watching yet another rooster soar (unscathed) into the sunrise, I began to question my devotion to the idea. The echoes from the peanut gallery didn’t help my confidence in the matter. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the truck and swap out guns? I worked the bolt and dismissed the notion of swapping guns. To do that would be to quit, and that wasn’t going to happen.
