A lump forming in his throat, Sid picked up one of the old Smith & Wesson Sigmas and held it at arms length, pointing it out the window and sighting it on the logo of the Federal Bureau of Social Engineering in the distance.

“Why guns?” he asked.

Tommy grabbed the other Sigma, stood up, and began jabbing the gun at the air as he spoke.

“Because every time we go looting, those motherfuckers either get the shit before we do, or they beat our asses and take what we got. No more!” said Tommy, getting agitated as he circled the couch.

“I don’t know Tommy,” said Sid. “This one is … there are Feds on the streets. I got a bad feeling.”

Tommy stood inches from the window, whispering, “It’s because winter is on the way, man. I haven’t eaten in three days. I need something to barter before the snow comes, Sid. Don’t fuck this up for me.” His right arm twitched, tapping the muzzle of the gun on the window sill, over and over.

“Okay, man. Okay,” said Sid, sliding the Sigma into his waste-band. “Let’s get some.”