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April 16, 2007

Jeff R.: From the Vault: The House Where I...

Memories are tricky bastards. Seeing the old town did nothing, but when I stepped outside and tasted those old tastes on the air it was almost like I was a teenager again. Thoughts and images I'd hoped never to think about again passed before me, one after another.

Laura, on the porch swing. Later that night in the back seat. Her brother's evil smirk. Her dad and his deputies, in the alley. Phil putting boot to groin and kidneys, sending the others away. The gun. The river.

I'd have sold the house for two bucks and a six-pack right then.

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Comments

Another one recycled from a similar theme back in my commenteering days. (Jan 3, 2006, to be exact)

Posted by: Jeff R. at April 16, 2007 9:28 PM · Permalink