When I was thirteen, me and my friends were, like so many small-town teens, obsessed with weapons. We tried to get our grubby hands on as many bb-guns, air-riffles and butterfly knives as we could. One day after a bunch of us got drunk on booze stolen from our parents’ stash, an argument broke out between me and one of my buddies. I pointed an air-rifle at him and as soon as I did he pulled a little “Indian knife” out of his pocket. It hit me straight in the eye and changed not only my life from one minute to the next, but also the color of my right eye forever.