Short Fiction About a Son and a Father
My father only cared about three things that I was aware of. I always felt like there had to be a fourth, somewhere in that greying, always sweaty head of his.
He cared about the financial section of the paper. It was my job, since I was about 5, to pick the paper off the porch, put it on the kitchen table, remove the financial section and bring it to hi…
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