The sanctity of one's home is universal. We all wish to feel secure and safe in our persona and possessions when on owned turf. When that personal space is violated, our sense of the world is distorted.
Upon selling the town place, the ole ranch hand moved all wordly "stuff" into the barn at the Tin Star. Yep, forty years of tool collecting, plus computers, TV's, whatever got piled in the metal edifice. It actually is kinda humbling to see everything you have ever put together lumped into one big heap.
Friday night, vermin forced open the door of the barn and hauled off about half of that so called "worldly wealth".
The son of a bitch stole our stuff, but he screwed up by leaving us with our anger, resolve, and shootin' irons.
Please let that bastard come back for a second dose at a time when I am ready and available to administer some Wright City justice to his ass!
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