I don’t remember how old I was. I think it was the summer between fifth and sixth grades. I don’t remember Tony going to Erwine Middle School, although there was a boy there with dark hair and a big nose who carried a briefcase to class and reminded me of Tony. Mostly, I remember Tony because of his sister, Angel. She was the girl my brothers got caught playing doctor with. I’d caught them
I took myself to the outdoor shopping center when the urges got really bad. The unwelcoming way they made you slide your car into a spot was just the beginning. Women wearing pastel polo shirts handed out samplers that scorched my heart. Men with ex-military tattoos stopped at kiosks to touch such meaningless things. Children with sneakers that cost as much as my monthly student loan payment
The macabre scene looked like a Halloween prank to the toll taker. Then she saw the blood. – St. Petersburg Times, 2005
Manny is crossing 34th Street, making a list of things to pay for—flowers, music, dress, food, church—when Ernie’s car hits him, and his body smashes into the windshield, his head and shoulders bursting through the passenger side.
Ernie thinks Manny fell from the sky,
I received The World’s Biggest Piece of Shit Award in 1990. My name was written on the award in fancy calligraphy. In front of the whole class, Mrs. Kerris, our English teacher, handed me the award. She wasn’t worried about getting fired, as she was retiring anyway. Her thing was she was pissed that I got stoned before her classes. I mean, she was teaching us important stuff about the happy