He grabbed the gun from the kitchen drawer. His fumbling , arthritic hands could hardly hold the damn gun much less fire it, "I use this only for self defense" he said, knowing the only thng he could probably shoot at was a damn crippled with a pit bull wrapped around his ankle. How ridiculous! His wife knew it and he probably did too. By the time he shuffled to the kitchen opened the drawer next to the silverware he'd breathe his last breath. It's funny the things we hold on to, youth, strength, beauty, the comb over. All just grasping at the wind. Futility eneveabltable.