"They Sneered at My Faded Windbreaker and Told the “Lost” Woman the Coffee Shop Was Next Door. They Laughed as I Asked About a Rifle They’d Never Seen. But the Laughter Choked in Their Throats When a Black Ops Commander Walked In, Ignored Everyone, and Saluted Me. They Shouldn't Have Poked the Ghost. The gun shop was a hive of noise and ego. The kind of place where testosterone hung thicker than the smell of gun oil. I didn't come here to buy a gun. I came here for a signal. Out back, a live sho