Everyday, while waiting for the bus, a child pointed at me from a balcony with his finger, and pulled the trigger as a rite his imaginary gun, screaming at me "Bang, bang!"
One day, just to keep the routine play, I also pointed at him with my finger, yelling "Bang, bang!"
The child fell to the street like struck down. I ran to him, and saw that he half opened his eyes and looked at me stunned.
Desperate I said: "But I just repeated the same as you did to me."
He responded then sorrowful: "Yes, sir, but I was not shooting to kill."