In the basement of an elementary school. None of this is going to go down with Marco, but he knows what I want, and there is one way for it to happen. If a club member who had also passed an instructor's course would load my gun and supervise every aspect of the process, I could shoot. Enter Peter, and enter the shooting area. The right leg is straight, left knee bent and supporting the weight, arms thrust forward as though pushing the gun away.
Right hand grips tightly, finger off the trigger, left hand cradles the right.
Sight down the barrel, keeping the gun tilted slightly downward. The shot is a dull but significant crack, less imposing than imagined, although there is no way to overstate the instantaneity of the event. Right grip, left cradle, thumb pushes off the safety and empty shell casings spring past my right ear-protector. The kick is less than imagined, although the gun does jerk upward, like a reflex. I've been to funerals that were more frivolous, and they certainly provided more time for reflection.