. . . . in which i am assembled in my living room with an indistinct group of people . . . we are watching a film on the projector but i am only half paying attention . . . i believe i am talking to my partner but i am unsure who that is in this space . . . the film becomes notably violent and starts to demand more of my attention. a girl is being raped with some graphic detail, a penis and balls appears to foreground the scene, there is a struggle and perhaps the sound or suggestion of someone being shot to death . . . the gun is a strange contrivance that looks like a gauntlet . . . a bullet is extracted from it by squeezing one of its fingers . . . the camera retreats or zooms out to reveal that the scene all along has been a darkly colored vintage car with vivid red interior set off against harsh lighting at night, there is an older woman with blonde hair at the wheel and other members of the family in the back . . . i then realize that the person behind me in the room is my mother and she silently walks away in disgust . . . .
handgun