J. Boogie,

When I wasn’t much older than you are right now you might find me, on any given ‘every-other-weekend’, wandering the daunting hallway at my dad’s.  I’d hang a sharp right and burst, unannounced,  through the door to his bedroom and there he’d be, on his knees like I’d seen him before in the pews, only here his god is an all-white powder in a Tony Montana mini-mountain on the razor-strewn night stand. (Read the rest)