Status Updates From Winter in the Blood

The gun, an old .30-3o, had once been important to me. Like my father before me, I had killed plenty of deer with it, but I hadn't used it since the day I killed Buster Cutfinger's dog for no reason except that I was drunk and it was moving. That was four years ago.

“I felt no hatred, no love, no guilt, no conscience, nothing but a distance that had grown through the years.”