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I used to, back when I was about 19 and worked out of a suburban house as a phone sex girl. The neighborhood guys had noticed girls going in and out of the house on a regular basis...I don't know if they thought we were hookers or what. But they would hang around, try to look in the windows, all that kind of crap.
Not only that, the phone sex business shared a building with a barber shop -- the barber was this scummy drunk who slept on a blanket in the storeroom of his shop, and having him around made me nervous. So I carried a little .22 semiauto in my purse, laid it right next to the phone the whole time I was working. I know, a .22 doesn't pack much punch, but it was all I could get ahold of right then, and at least it would've slowed the bastard down until I could get a good temple shot right through the thinnest part of the skull...
(was raised by a gunsmith and taught exactly what to do and where to aim for...my man-shaped silhouette targets always used to have a nice grouping of holes right at center of mass...)
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<font size="1" font color="black"><i><b>"No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater...than central air."</i> -- Dogma</b> ICQ#169.839.131</font>
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