The Kid's Gun

 
Last Sunday I was standing in front an ice cream shop waiting for my order.  I turned around to view the traffic behind me.  I saw a late model white Ford F150 with dark, tinted windows pull up about a half block north  from where I was standing.  The passenger side door opened and a teen-aged boy jumped down.  He was wearing a white, untucked dress shirt, blue jeans, and black dress shoes.  His hair looked neatly combed.  He started to fix his front shirt because he had realized half of his gun protruded from his pants.  The driver turned his emergency lights on while he waited for his companion.  They had gone to pick up food.  Lunch time.

I'd take quick glances every so often to see if the kid had come back from the restaurant.  Shortly after, he emerged with a brown paper bag and hopped back into the truck.  This kid must have been about fourteen years old, 5 feet 4 inches tall and weighed around 135 lbs.  He walked uncomfortably back to the truck.  I thought to myself, "Maybe its the gun.  That gun must weigh more than he does."