Another doorway opens and two more guys come through the door with guns. “What is this?” one guy says.
“This is our room. We’re here to get Ed.” “So are we.”
The moon rose this night as it had done in the days, months, and years before, as it would tomorrow and the night after that if life remained, but this night was different.
I’d been in Stateline for four days, trying to find a coke dealer named Daniel Fowler. He was the reason my friend Powell was headed to San Quentin, or so I’d been told.
If you’re the type of person whose eye twitches when someone bookmarks a page by folding the corner, let your spouse be the one to read to the baby.
That gesture, that tightening of the hand, such a simple thing, simple but it reassures me.
Apparently my five year old daughter told her kindergarten teacher that if she ever gets married she’s going to walk down the aisle to AC/DC’s “Hells Bells.”
Most men will not read this. Men don’t want to read about other men’s parenting experiences.
Is years I waiting for God to smile on me. And is years the devil pissing on me. Sometimes I think I is the orphan child of the both a them.