Chapter Forty-Nine
Mickey turned and raised his eyebrows to him. “She smokes.” He inhaled from the depths of his belly, smiling, closing his eyes. “Smell that? What you think she does with those ashes?”
Fur is Murder
As loved as we were by the Boschmann’s, we were still a negro family and had to live in the negro part of town. This part of town was not Officer Sweeney’s beat. He being at our door to arrest my Ronnie was strictly a courtesy. At some point during all the celebration, Mr. Stanley had been murdered. Stabbed in the throat three times. Another four times in the chest and seventeen times in his crotch. I nearly dropped Caroline as Officer Sweeney gave us more details while the other cops escorted Ronnie back to our bedroom so he could get dressed before they slapped cuffs on him.
A Lovely So Real: An Ode to Smoke
The thing for those civilians out there to get wrapped around their brain stems is that it isn’t about the nicotine. It’s about the smoke. The feel of it, incandescently winding it’s way into your mouth and down your pipes. Exhaling it into slow curls into the night air.
Anxiety is the thing that’s ripped our country apart. It has divided us, caused us to fear and hate those who think and live differently than us, and even caused us to hate those who only slightly disagree with us. It has led to panic and overreaction. And I worry that American Anxiety is only going to exacerbate the social and political divide in this country to the point that there is no coming back.