A short story about holster wear.
An old cop buddy of mine carried a Colt Trooper on duty, and off duty. He was a big guy, and gettin in and out of the car, and in many street fights making arrests the grips got banged up over the years. The gun was taken in and out of the holster countless times over the years, and it showed the years of use that this officer, and other officers, and citizens, DEPENDED on this old Colt. A few times "I" depended on that old Colt. I fought "beside" this guy, and sometimes "with" this guy. It was life.
Then one day Bill was gone, with a massive, one time heart attack in his early fifties. I looked at that old Colt, and thought what all of think at one time or the other: If this old Colt could just talk, the stories it could tell.
Then in memoriam of his father, Bill's son took that old Colt, and had it RE-BLUED, and the grips RESTORED. I looked at that now NEW appearing old Colt, and thought: He just erased a period in a life when he did that to that old Colt. I don't think Bill's son realized that when he did that, and then put it in a glass box. I hope he never does.