I'm really not sure why I bought it. I guess maybe I thought it might be fun to show to my friends, but I never did. I remember looking for it online, wondering if "Sniper Rifle" was a keyword that might get you tagged by the government. It didn't take long for me to find the Remington 700 VTR. The $700 it would cost didn't deter me. I lived in a one room apartment (if it could even be called that) in the attic of a house that had been remodeled to have multiple residents. 107 1/3, Baker's street was my official address, the kind of place UPS has a hard time finding. Rent was only $150 a month plus utilities, I spent very little on food, and I worked nights mixing drinks at "Feint," a popular nightclub only a few blocks from my house. I didn't have much in my life, but disposable income was not hard to come by.
It came on a Tuesday, just as I was waking up for the day. I heard the man in brown shorts come jogging up the long, straight, wooden staircase that led to my door. He knocked and ran right back down. When I opened it, I really didn't know what to do with it. I spent an extra $500 on a scope, but then had to look on the internet to figure out how to mount it. It took a few hours, but I finally figured it out. I also ordered a box of bullets, and a bag to carry it in. Again, why did I think I was going to carry it anywhere? I didn't shoot guns. I didn't have friends who shot guns, but I loaded my rifle just the same and looked into the scope. All I saw was wall, and it made me sick when I tried to move it so I could see something other than white. When I pulled my eye out, I looked to my right and saw the one window in my whole apartment. I didn't think about how it might look, I just wanted to find somewhere to test the scope, so I opened my window and stuck the barrel out. This worked much better. I was able to see up and down my street, and was amazed at how close everything looked.
That night I put my gun back in its case and went to work. The next day I woke up, and decided to look out my window again. I noticed a jogger, which I easily followed with my scope. I also saw some kids playing, a man getting dressed through a window, and several people in cars who were all easy to see and follow around.
It quickly became an obsession. I loved looking down that scope. It was fun to try and figure out what people were doing, or saying. The rifle felt good against my shoulder too. It seemed to fit me. It took a few months, but eventually the gun didn't feel so heavy, and I was able to look for longer. It was three months to the day that finger ever touched the trigger. I had just been holding the stock with both my hands. Maybe I should have ordered a telescope instead. But my finger being one the trigger wasn't a problem right? I was never going to shoot anyone, it just felt right for it to be there. I wasn't a killer. I wasn't going to shoot anyone, right? Right?