Personal Narrative: My First Gun

After hours of sitting in the passenger seat of a white Ford F-150 watching cornfield after cornfield after cornfield fly by my hallow stomach let out a roar like a lion on the African safari, my dad takes his eyes off the road and says,” skip lunch much?” Then I saw it, the light at the end of a hundred and eighty-six-mile-long tunnel on the left hand side of the road “Cracker Barrel.” I sat down at the table and know what I was going to order. Our waitress plopped down a half pound of perfectly prepared beef deliciousness topped with lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickles. I devoured it, we were back on the road to castle Vanm. I woke up the next morning excited to shoot my first gun on the farm. My dad walked out and unsheathed a over and under