By Monica Alonzo
By Stephen Lemons
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Dulce Paloma Baltazar Pedraza
By Ray Stern
By Pete Kotz
By Monica Alonzo
By New Times
"'Cause that's trespassing, breaking and entering. We're just defending ourselves and our property. What's the most we're gonna do? Put a couple of holes in the door and have to repair the door? Woohoo."
Actually, Shaun might want to brush up on the law before he takes the academy test--you can't use deadly force against someone just because they've broken in or taken your property.
Furthermore, I point out that his dream sequence might be marred by having to clean the intruder's brains off the ceiling.
"Well, if he broke into our apartment, there wasn't much up there [in his head], 'cause everybody in our complex knows we're armed. Trust me, by the time they think about banning guns, I'll have an arsenal. I carry a gun 24-7. I've been here since January, and I've had a gun pulled on me seven times. I get my mom askin' me why I carry a gun all the time, and I tell her, ''Cause I'm tired of getting one pulled on me all the time.' If somebody pulls a gun on me, I'll shoot 'em."
Or tell his mother.
We talk about kids with guns. I tell him I think the Columbine massacre was a stupidly phallic protest--mean, self-destructive acts by middle-class fuck-ups who hated their meaningless lives. And how these things are always dick-driven. Girls never feel the need for such dissemination.
Shaun kind of nods, half-listening.
"What I've seen the most of since I have been doing Circle K's, is kids 16, 17 years old, walking around with guns. And they are concealin'. And you know they're not old enough to buy a gun, let alone a concealed-weapons permit. And they got it stuck in the back of their pants, and, when they bend for a piece of candy, you see the gun. If they are trying to hide, they're not doing a very good job at it. The ones I pay attention to are the ones who have it concealed and stuck in their pants.
"But," he adds. "If they outlaw guns, who's gonna have 'em? The outlaws."
Forty-five minutes later, the guys in the green car pass the K again.
Their zoo-at-feeding-time howls echo again. Shaun rests his hand on his Ruger, shakes his head and smirks. He sucks another mouthful from his cigarette.