Fire

For years, a tradition in the Fall for Eamon has been to go to Fin Feather and Fur which is about an hour drive from us. He likes to procure his winter collection; heavy wool socks, long johns and usually a new pair of uber rugged boots.
Recently, one has been built a mere few miles from us and we have been waiting for the opening with baited breath (hah).
Yesterday, we had an opportunity to go there and ruin our entire perception and love for the store. And how did that happen? Well it's called guns and the people who buy them. The original store we used to travel to had weapons, but they were on the second floor and maybe because the store had been there forever, it wasn't a circus of camouflage, Obamanation t-shirts and any image one could conjure of last person on earth who should ever own a gun, but the buzz over by the counter was not unlike the sound of the swarm of a thousand angry bees ready for what ever may come based on all of the movies they've seen. It could be Sectarians, Zombies, Commies or even the Iceman. Either way, they are locked loaded and ready.