When in the course of human events, we find ourselves brought to a point where shooting guns is necessary, we shoot guns. And do it well. I don't know where that last sentence came from, but I know that I shot the hell out of some skeet, and it was fantastic. Skeet, unlike trap, is really hard. There's targets coming from every which way. It's awesome.
Within five minutes at the range, we had two shotguns and 100 rounds in hand. By no means were we offered any sort of training, other than what came in the form of stern criticism from Judy, the lady who hits the button when you say "pull." Basically, she took us to school, and by the end, I hit 16-25 shots, and Zach hit 12-25 shots. Brett brought up the rear with 3-25, shielding the rest of us from Judy's wrath for the rest of the Afternoon.
Shooting shit is hilarious. It's loud, it hurts your shoulder, it smells like black powder, the people look funny, it's expensive, but I will freely admit that I can't wait to go again.
We have spent the last six days in Dawsonville, GA, about 35 minutes from midtown Atlanta. Dawsonville is the home of TK's brother, big Will, who quickly became one of my favorite people in the world. We laughed, we cried, we offended some people. It was beautiful.
Due to an impending concert, and what I am beginning to see as "chronic bronchitis," I have stopped smoking cigarettes. Supposedly, this is a good thing. I hate everybody. I hate Jay, I hate Zach, and I certainly hate Brett. I hate myself. I haven't smoked in 18 hours. I do, however, feel considerably better than normal.
It's an overcast day as we head from Georgia to Tennessee (which for some reason, much like Mississippi, I will always remember how to spell). I will be in Tucson in about 24 hours. I'm excited.
xoxo, and see you soon.
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