‘The hands cost ¢130,000 each and my insurance refused to pay for anything electric. Essentially, they viewed the hands as luxury items’
The man who was about to shoot me was already in the phone shop when I walked through the door. It was August 2015 and, having retired from my career as a counsellor at a Kansas school, I was due to start truancy volunteering the next day.
As I approached the desk, a young man stepped out waving a gun and said, “Everyone to the back room. This is what you think it is.” It was me, him and two clerks, both young women. I said “No!” more out of disbelief than defiance. But without a moment’s pause, he aimed his gun at my chest and shot me twice.
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