The closest I ever came to shooting someone was a drunk chick who came to my apartment looking for her boyfriend.
She misread the apartment number. I didn’t know her or her boyfriend.
I had a hard time convincing her she had the wrong place.
My gun was pointed at her during our whole conversation. She didn’t seem to notice.
Finally, I got her to understand the difference between 332 and 323 and to recall that, in the past, she only had to go up one flight of stairs to get to his place.
A very similar thing happened to us one late night where we used to live.................
There was a time when a drunk chick knocking on your door ended in a good story.