Two hours later, I set up target practice in my backyard where there is plenty of space for no accidental injuries. Here, I display a Birchwood twenty-four-inch diameter target next to the lake, opposite Rutger’s summertime abode. Approximately fifty yards away, I use a Ruger MK III and pop off a shot with a one-handed grip. The shot breaks ring seven. I pop off a second shot and break ring nine. A third shot hits the X on the target and a feeling of deep satisfaction surfaces on my skin.
“You still got it, Islip,” I say to myself, pleased.
The heat is almost unbearable, but it doesn’t prevent me from carrying out one of my favorite hobbies. Having the Ruger in my right palm feels similar to a c**k: sleek, powerful, and daunting. I pop off seven more shots, become pleased with my results
