A small factory, churning out gun parts with no serial numbers. Legal, because they weren’t selling guns — just kits.Ghost guns, like bump stocks,...were pretty much a dead end. For me at least.I needed serial numbers. Real ones, accurate ones.Vanessa and I were sipping wine, lazily looking out our Main Street windows. Holding hands, Leon Redbone instrumentals in the background.Pilar came in and sat beside me, took a sip of wine. She spoke casually — she hadn’t yet learned that that’s a tell. She. Neighbor farm families would bring covered dishes of food and among us all there was enough talent to provide live music. Everyone there loved "barn dance night". I totally love dancing.Towards the end of my senior year of high school the prom night and graduation were coming up quick. No one had asked me to the prom. During a study hall class I went downstairs to the school library. While reading a magazine I noticed at a nearby table Eddie sitting with who knows how many books open? Eddie was. More

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