“Let’s go, Chris!” “I’m coming!” I shouted in a whisper. It was the summer of 1992. I was a teenager. My best friend, Johnny, had been stealing his step-dad’s shiny new Lincoln Continental every weekend and picking me up at
There is a kid next door. A child about 7 years old. This child screams. He screams at moths and mosquitos because, to him, every mosquito is a monster and every moth is trying to kill him. “OH MY GOD!
“When are you coming to bed, Chris?” she asked wearing only a robe. “I’ll be there in a second, I just have to finish this.” … 10 minutes later … I walked into the bedroom and she was on top