“It’s Matt’s,” cried Peter, not afraid to ‘dob’ his friend in. Martin, his brother nodded.
“It… um, belongs to my dad,” Matt blurted.
Tired sigh. “Yeah, right.” Then, “It’s appalling…”
I cracked it open, and pushed a pellet in, enjoying their horrified silence. “…the sight was out by half an inch. Fixed it.”
I turned, aimed at a can on their ‘range’… blasted it first time. Another pellet, and, bang, a second tin went south. Faces, priceless as I handed it back. “Perfect now. You’re welcome.”