The shooting gallery

With a list of songs still left to sing, our time in the singing room was up. No bother, on the street was more fun to be had. White light poured out the open door, calling my eyes in. So I led the troop towards all the guns.

We lined up and fired off, hoping the stuffed animals would be ours. But none made a score good enough to win any prize. Instead we pointed guns at the camera lens while the owner laughed.

One last shot at the hammer-pound, and off into the night.