I have written a story already about stealing a book written by Henry Miller, the Tropic of Cancer, when I was a pubescent teenager. But here is the rest of the story. – Sometimes, it is obvious that there is a string of circumstances that seem meant to follow an insignificant encounter. When I was 14, my parents had drowned themselves in alcohol and were very dangerous to be around. My sisters and I learned early on how ‘a little drinky winky,’ could be extremely dangerous. One night, my parents barged back in the door of our home around 3 AM,...
