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Everyone there was drunk, still drinking.
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Matt shook his head.
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| He came over many mornings before opening the supermarket in our neighborhood and had breakfast with Mom and me while I prepared for school. Our interests never interlocked. He assumed I was interested in sports, in being a fireman or doctor when I grew up, in playing with other boys. When he found out I wanted to be an artist, he was taken aback. His idea of art rape pics was limited to portraits of the saints. One morning at breakfast as I ate my milk and oatmeal, he sat at the other side of our tiny kitchen table, reading a newspaper article to my mother who was working at the sink. He was mildly agitated about a report on small business regulation. He read until he came to a word in the article that made him stop. What is that word? | he asked irritably, squinting at the page. Why do they have to use words this long in newspapers? Ask Speedy, Mom said, so he handed me the paper and pointed at the rape pics word. What's that word say? he asked me. Chewing oatmeal, I glanced at the word quickly and announced, Antiestablishmentarianism. He sat back rape pics in amazement. Well, damn, he breathed. How'd he know a big word like that? |