GENRE
“This is not a Cubs banner,” he said, pointing to the tattered flag from outside.
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Palo Alto is suburbia to the tenth power. A teen rides down the street. I track him with the revolver nestled in the crook of my arm, like some TV cop.
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Broke into Jean Barlow’s bedroom when you were fourteen and she and her husband were on summer vacation.
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Mom was high on Percs or something when she told me about one of my father’s stashes of cash.
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Her eyes are closed and she’s gritting her teeth so hard I think she’s gonna crack’em.
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