Two fellows were out on a lake when one reached into a tackle box to repair his line. Someone had left the tackle box out in the sun. When he grabbed the sinker, he cursed, and said something about “hot lead.”

Then there was the curious case of the still life artist who, in a frenetic moment of creativity, drew something like 200 ten minute drawings. It was said no one could out draw him, and if you had touched the pencil, your finger would blister. Any guesses why? Hot lead.

One man in a shed crafted vintage bullets for his black powder rifle. One of the bullets would need to be melted down and re-shaped. After doing the requisite work, the form emerged. He touched the resulting shape. Just as he thought--hot lead.

In a busy newsroom a reporter gets a call about a breaking story. Flushed, the female reporter goes to her desk and bangs out some appointments into her overflowing Outlook calendar. She casually yells to the cubicle worker across the way before she grabs her coat from the back of her chair that she has to go to investigate this matter. “Hot lead?” he asks. “Hot lead,” is her reply.

Somewhere, when she finished her discourse, a fisherman was being drawn by an artist, who, it just so happened, when he wasn’t fishing, enjoyed war re-enactments where he got to use his black powder gun. Of course, he did not use any bullets he made for the rifle for re-enactments. Too dangerous. He had just read a story about an accidental shooting by a journalist who had been tipped off by a supposed insider in the gun lobby. The gun was loaded when it shouldn’t have been. “Some people,” he mused. “Some people just do not think the rules apply to them.”

He reeled in his line. They weren’t biting. “Too light,” he thought. "I’ll need to add more weight." The fish were in a peculiar mood. The plop of the line in the water was his rejoinder. It sank to the bottom. Thunk

Word Count: 399