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47 O n e -T h i rd o f 180 G ram s o f Lead Both of them were history, even before one pulled the trigger, before I rocketed through the smoking barrel hidden in the honeysuckle before I tore through a man’s back, shattered his family, a window, and tore through an inner wall before I bounced off a refrigerator and a coffeepot before I landed at my destined point in history —next to a watermelon. What was cruel was the irony not the melon, not the man falling in slow motion, but the man squinting through the crosshairs reducing the justice system to a small circle, praying that he not miss, then sending me to deliver a message as if the woman screaming in the dark or the children crying at her feet could ever believe a bullet was small enough to hate. ...

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