Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Arby's

As a young boy, my father would take me to Gala Beach.
Each step in the sand would feel like stepping into a brand new night shoe, slipper, or a soft moccasin. Any time the sun would go down, a tear would drop from my face because I knew, oh how I knew, that this would be the time to leave.

I murdered my dad.

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