So among my things done today was figuring out how to walk around with a pistol and be comfortable and keep it concealed. Remo Williams' instructor in assassination told him that anyone that is carrying a weapon walks differently because of it - and since that is a pulp fiction series I paid attention because it could be true. So I took my smallest forty-five and holsters and hung them around my waist - which as soon as I lose the love handles will give me room to hide things under the loose skin folds no longer containing fat. Okay, I don't want to wait that long.
Putting it inside the trousers still gives it away, and one has to have trousers that allow that much room to put a pistol and holster inside them. I have some, but if I want to die pretty it looks bad, I would rather put the pistoled holster on the belt outside and then put sports coat, long leather jacket or car coat, or rain coat over them. Still the weight of the pistol will drag the belt down on that side, but not enough to be concerned over. The most comfortable carry is with the weapon on an inside pocket of the heavier jacket, or in the back pocket of my blue jeans - but the concealment issue rises again. In the end a shoulder holster is the only way to go, daily, in comfort and maximum concealed - hidden in the arm pit (almost) with broader back muscles and pects helping hide the pistol. Just have to get those extra muscles from the prop shop that Johnny Carson used for his Rambo spoof.
Then again I was struck by sixty years of living mostly without ever needing to carry a firearm, and when I did need one I always had lots available. I keep thinking that I won't be carrying soon, and then realized after having dressed twice to leave the home and both times making sure I was carrying sharp knives - for whatever they would get me, that I would carry a pistol concealed as long as I wasn't going to court or work at the prison. I had best get that shoulder holster rig, for ease of wear and ritual. One magazine in the weapon, one on the harness and one knife on the harness. Dressed for the worst. No one will ever know, they need never know, and the rules say they must never know.