Exactly twenty years ago today, on December 28, 1992, I went back to the pawn shop in a small town in Alabama, laid down four portraits of Benjamin Franklin, and left the proud owner of a Gen 2 Glock 17 pistol, which I named Bruce.
It took me a few weeks to decide what pistol to buy, then to find this one. Thanks to the Brady law, I had to wait at least five days to pick it up, after filling out the background check paperwork.
My next stop was the shooting range, where I got the break of a lifetime.
It’s on my hip right now.
Happy Anniversary, Bruce!