Bang Bang, Bang

Last night there were gunshots outside on the street in front of my house. Mentioning this in conversation immediately sparks "probably a backfiring car". Six sounds with an inconsistentency to car backfire and the fact it was more than once in a matter of 15 seconds makes me think it wasn't a car. Experiencing the masculine sport of shooting in the wonderful country town of Colah gave me an insight to the natural sound of gunfire. This was the sound of a hand pistol, someone was trying to either scare people or had direct hits each time. There were no sounds in the street afterwards. Being male, I walked outside to inspect the street using my most manly way of pouting my chest out like a pigeon and walking like I'm trying to kick my shoes off each time. I looksies to the right, to the left and look right again just like the ad campaign says and to no avail. With exception to a young couple out walking in their tights for exercise. The type of people that could witness genocide and still continue their brisk pace past the monstrosity. Nothing can stop these fitness freaks, it is their right to ignore what they feel is inconsiderate to their routine. It was late, my manly figure silhouetted against the wall of the neighbours house gave an eery impression of a nightcrawler ready to seek justice by taking the law into his own hands. Neighbours I hear trembling as they witness their friendly neighbourhood crime fighter in awe. I turn my back to the street, kicking my toes back into my bunny slippers and mincing back to the house. I had work to do. Illustrations to draw. Saving the neighbourhood was that night, going to be second priority. For I had a deadline.