Damaged Goods
“He was sitting in the shadows with his back against the brick tower enclosing the stairwell, this in deference to crazed snipers like the one who’d scared the crap out of him a few days before. There being no skyscrapers on his part of the island, the sun, though dropping in the west, still flooded most of the roof, silhouetting anybody foolish enough to stand around. Neither Moodrow, nor his neighbor and landlord, Manny Ochoa, were foolish.
Manny, as he pulled on a thirty-two-ounce Michelob, w...as going on and on about the “old days,” the glorious Fifties when he’d run with the Crimson Lords. Yes, he admitted (as he had to Moodrow many times in the past), he, like all his buddies, had carried a switchblade. Once, he’d even tried to build a zip gun in the basement, though that particular experiment had literally blown up in his face. But neither he nor his macho pals had robbed old ladies, fired semiautomatic weapons into crowds of schoolchildren, sold poison to their own community.MoreLess
Manny, as he pulled on a thirty-two-ounce Michelob, w...as going on and on about the “old days,” the glorious Fifties when he’d run with the Crimson Lords. Yes, he admitted (as he had to Moodrow many times in the past), he, like all his buddies, had carried a switchblade. Once, he’d even tried to build a zip gun in the basement, though that particular experiment had literally blown up in his face. But neither he nor his macho pals had robbed old ladies, fired semiautomatic weapons into crowds of schoolchildren, sold poison to their own community.MoreLess
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