He was jealous of them, of the immigrants, of their boldness, their adventures, but he wouldn’t admit it, and he looked at them and they looked at him, and the space in-between was trapped in guilt, his and theirs.… more
The last time Sol and I had spoken was over a casket at our Uncle Lyndon’s wake.
“He was a good guy,” said Sol.
“He used to hit us with his King James Bible… more