Having gotten my masters in architecture, I found myself spending my newly acquired spare weekends at a gun shop in San Bruno (just south of South San...Francisco). The owner and the namesake of the place was an old coot by the name of Barnes. We traded ammunition from the weapons I took from dead Mexican banditos and gang-banging thugs.The few pieces I had that could pass for legal I'd bring in and learn a few tricks about maintenance and gunsmithing. Heck, I picked up Barnes' entire experience. By this time, she'd made it to the front of the line and I watched as she chatted cheerfully with the barista while he started filling her order. Her high tinkling laugh drifted to me across the noise of the cafe as they shared some unknown joke. I felt a moment of envy for the man serving her. I wanted to have those green eyes flashing at me – to have that laugh responding to some comment of mine. Then I acknowledged the envy for the foolishness it was and let it fade away.I turned away and. More

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