By Chris Inouye
There I lay. The emergency room was unbearably cold, even compared to the December day I was shooting in for the previous six hours. The Physician assistants asking me if they could take a picture of the gore. A former classmate doing much better with their life judging by her lab coat and “staff badge” dangling from her necklace. A Sheriff’s deputy interviewing me and bewailing about the lack of “real police work” in this podunk. What a great birthday . . .
An hour earlier I was down at the public range, sequestered deep behind a landfill surrounded by pools of frozen runoff. It was the big day. I was finally taking out my 1942 round receiver 91/30, 1928 Tula hex receiver, and my M44, having kept them in the safe, rather favoring my ebony MSRs. I even opened a 1947 zinc-lined spam can of 7.62X54r on true Russian stripper clips that AIM had at an incredible pre-2012 price for the occasion as well. For those philistines who are unfamiliar with the Mosin Nagant allow me to save you a trip to Wikipedia.
Source:: Truth About Guns