And what exactly would you have done with the firearm? Waved it around in the air, screaming like a five year old? Or popped a couple of rounds into a parked car to "show em you mean business"?
A couple people yelled at you. Big deal, get on with life.
__________________
This is Africa, 1943. War spits out its violence overhead and the sandy graveyard swallows it up. Her name is King Nine, B-25, medium bomber, Twelfth Air Force. On a hot, still morning she took off from Tunisia to bomb the southern tip of Italy. An errant piece of flak tore a hole in a wing tank and, like a wounded bird, this is where she landed, not to return on this day, or any other day.