"...spent bullets are strewn all over the floor like a Wiley Coyote trap or perilous Marx Brothers bait. One half expects to go realing, arms windmilling, up into the air and then flat on your back, defeated. But picking through the shells – nudging them or violently kicking them out of the way to make a path – is a welcome challenge that feels like a trangression in some sacred space."
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