Free Fire
Free Fire
“George looked dark and small, birdlike, fragile, his thick black hair slicked back wetly in jail-bar strings and his hands entwined in front of him. A tray of food sat off to the side. He wore a dingy but clean white shirt buttoned all the way up and dark baggy slacks Joe recognized from years before, which gave Joe an uneasyfeeling and caused a hitch in his step that he powered through, as if his legs had thought better of the reunion and decidedto flee.
The closer Joe got to his father, the a...ngrier and more confusedhe became. The emotions came out of a place he didn’t know still existed, as if a long-dormant tumor had ruptured. He felt eighteen again, and not in a good way.
Joe sat down across from George. They had the table to themselves. Outside the murky, unwashed windows, the last moments of the sun died on the pine boughs.
“You can grab a tray and get some dinner,” George said, gesturingtoward the buffet line at the front of the room.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve got to eat something.”MoreLess
The closer Joe got to his father, the a...ngrier and more confusedhe became. The emotions came out of a place he didn’t know still existed, as if a long-dormant tumor had ruptured. He felt eighteen again, and not in a good way.
Joe sat down across from George. They had the table to themselves. Outside the murky, unwashed windows, the last moments of the sun died on the pine boughs.
“You can grab a tray and get some dinner,” George said, gesturingtoward the buffet line at the front of the room.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve got to eat something.”MoreLess
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