Unpublished short fiction

On Saturday after work I buy a gun with no bullets. I don’t know anything about guns. The gun dealer can tell I don’t know anything about guns and I don’t try to hide it. He suggests a Glock. I like the sound of that. It sounds like a bullet going into a body. He puts two guns from his display case on a soft pad on the counter and cocks the top back a couple times. I don’t know why he does that but it’s very cool. The guns are black.
      “Glock 17, Glock 19,” he says, pointing at each and pushing his yellowing old frames up his nose, which is covered in rosacea.
      “Why is the Glock 19 smaller?” I ask. “Isn’t it two better than the 17?”
      “The 19 is for concealed carry. You puttin’ it down your pants, bucko?”
      I tell him I am not planning to put any gun down my pants. He puts the Glock 19 back in the display case.
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4,253 words