Morning Coffee

You've got to love the first cup of morning coffee. I'm on my third or is it fourth pot. Not sure as I've lost count. I've been awake for over forty-eight hours. I have a cough. My throat is tender.

But what the heck at least I'm alive.

*****

Recently I answered an ad on Craigslist.  The fella had ammo cans for sale, several sizes. Informed the guy I'd take five of his 20mm cans. He responded and said he'd drop them at my shop, last Friday. He arrived yesterday afternoon.

Five big cans to fill. These are really too big to load with small arms ammunition. If one were to do so it would take five grown men and a boy scout troop to move them. Instead I'd suggest you utilize the big suckers for storage of sensitive electronics gear and or valuables. They are water proof but as a precaution apply a lubricate to the rubber seals. Vaseline works quite well. They're prefect for things like - night vision, rifle scopes, binoculars, and small amounts of ammunition topped with spare clothing. In the past I've even packed a spare pair of boots atop six boxes of shotgun shells. Think of them as portable vaults.

*****

I have far too many projects underway. There are the two AR builds. I have two Coleman stoves and two lanterns to restore with more on the way, and last weekend I decided to finally take stock of my ammunition supplies. I bounce from one to the other and never completely finish any one project due to my fickle nature. With our current summer heat and relentless rain it's just flat out uncomfortable to work in the garage. This is the excuse I gave Sweet Wife when she asked why in the world is all that stuff stacked in the garage. I need help. Think I'll ride downtown today and hire an urban camper. That is if any of them want employment and can rip their lips from the governments tit.

*****

I arrived at the shop early this morning and sat and paid bills. It was quiet, very quiet, for most of the first hour. Out front there was little to no traffic.

About an hour into my labors I heard a faint yell. At first I didn't recognize the sound so stood and opened the back door of my shop. Then again, a very faint scream. A child. Then it hit me. Somewhere back in this neighborhood a little boy or girl was under attack from his or her parent. It was the distinctive screams of a young child being whipped. I walked towards the street, not sure why, but I felt it necessary to try and locate the child. I reasoned if I could hear the child's screams, cushioned by the walls and windows of a house, then how terrible must be this little ones pain. I had not given a moments thought as to my actions if I were to indeed find this child. It was pure instinct, I wanted the screams to stop. 

Then nothing.

I turned and walked back inside. With another cup of coffee I returned to my work. The morning hasn't been the same since.

Sometimes I hate this city.

Stephen