“Mallen called for a cab and when it showed, finally, he gave the driver the address and climbed in back. It seemed the best place to go and just relax. No one would ever think he’d go there, of all places. As the cab drove along Fulton Street, his thoughts turned back to his mother. He tried not to do that too much. Barely had any memory of her anymore. Most of what he had left were the stories that his father had told him, usually when the old man was more drunk than usual. Ol’ Monster Mal...len never liked to talk about the shit that mattered or hurt. The topic of his late wife hurt, and that was a fact. The cab pulled onto a small side road that ran into John F. Kennedy Drive and parked. And there it was: the windmill. Where he and Eric had spent many a drunken night. The rain had stopped, what looked like only for now. The air was filled with the dull, concussive beats from the waves on the nearby beach. He got out, paid the cabbie, and went to the windmill.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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