There’s a man with a machine gun hiding in the corners of my mind. Well, they’re not really corners—The mind has no angles you see, just curves which cast long shadows that blend with his camouflage gear.
He hates men and women, especially women, but men too. He sees people through gunsights, and he makes my trigger finger itch, my muscles twitch, and he comes out when I least expect it.
He has been there for a long time, my man with the machine gun, though he sometimes looked a little different—A long time ago he might have had a spear or a battle-axe, but he has always been there, and he comes out when I least expect it.
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