You know the odds go up that having a gun near you will mean it's used against you. Without training, someone will take it away from you unless you're willing to shoot them when they're about 6 ft away max. It's a lose-lose without serious training and experience.

And F that awareness of what's behind the target. If you're willing to pull the trigger to kill someone, that means your life is in enough danger that you're making a snap decision to save it. You don't live with anyone, you're not worried about kids hanging out. Fire till the clip is empty. Don't worry about what's behind.

I went through this process. I've found a couple guns in my life.

The first time was high stress. I was with a friend's mother's female friend and her daughter. The female friend was going through a bad divorce and I was simply there helping her clean out the house while the husband was supposedly away but could actually show up at any minute. I was 18 at the time.

The daughter was hot. Incredible skinny little redhead that had a keychain that said sex instructor. She wanted me. She was jailbait. Serious jailbait. Serious. Stay away.

But I hung out with this group for a few months and one day they said come help move.

So I did.

As we're cleaning stuff out, we come across a loaded gun. Am I sure? No. But none of us know enough about guns to do anything other than hide it or get rid of it. We do not want it there if the husband comes home.

So I, along with the hot little redhead because she knew the area, drove off into the Jersey pine barrens swamplands. She was guiding me. This was Jersey where if I was caught with this gun I would go to jail. Do not pass go.

BillyJoel came on the radio. Under pressure. Where the only thing that you feel are loaded guns in your face.

She pointed to a heavily wooded trail and had me drive my 77 Impala down it. This was a gray overcast day and it certainly felt like a bad movie about it end or begin.

At that point it became a matter of throwing it as hard as I could into a pond. Hoping there were no witnesses. With my fingerprints on it. Who knows who it killed. But it was gone, at least for a while.

The next time was when I bought the house in Trenton. We moved in and they missed cleaning out a linen closet. Under the linens was a box with a Taurus handgun. Along with a letter signed from the chief of the police authorizing its owner to use it. I was not the owner. I called the old guy and delivered the gun along with a few lamps that he had left behind. Again, I shouldn't have held it, I shouldn't have driven with it.