The Spring
In jeans and an olive-drab t-shirt, Mark Smith sat on his front porch in the late evening hours of November first. His M-14 rifle—well, the civilian version, a reasonable facsimile still in 7.62 millimeter—lay across his lap. Over the past half-hour, he’d disassembled, cleaned and reassembled the rifle. It was a weekly chore, and it kept him connected. The sounds of some inane sitcom filtered out through the door, complete with the laugh track. He shook … Read more