Four times a year, Kevin has to go to a shooting range and play cowboy–one of the mandatory aspects of his job. Sometimes the shooting is indoors and fairly straightforward. Sometimes it’s outdoors, with moving targets that are made to look like an assortment of criminals alongside mothers holding babies, and you have to shoot while running. You’re supposed to shoot the criminals but not the babies, and preferably not the mamas. So this morning, Kevin was out the door by 6:30 with his kevlar vest and other accoutrements– shooting day again. A few minutes ago, I called him...



