Shopping with the NRA –

Blazing warmth from nuclear fusion, melting him, and the crickets outside were sliding down on sweat slides from their mini arboretum, dead flies on windowsills, in that store for 67 minutes.
One lump or two? Two.
One- wallet, sitting pocket lumpy, one Bill and a rough of colourful cut-out coupons.
Two- a second amendment to something he’d never read
And up and up the shopping cart tower went, leaning like Pisa, and a long queue waits for no man.
Cashier about to commit suicide from the sudden realisation that fulfilment of her dreams had definitely gone and a bag boy smiled.
“Coupons; Expired; $145.50.”
Andrew Jackson in his lump sleeping soundly, then, awoken, to be living in a State where a concealed weapon without a permit was entirely legal has it costs.

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