Now get your ass in, but I'm driving!"His sister was right that he loved his old mint suped up dodge charger asshe unlocked the trunk, tossing in his ...arry on. He was too tired to evenargue as he slipped into the passenger seat and the hum of the revvedengine was a much needed comforting feeling.It had been a tough time for the last few years going through a nastyseparation and divorce, but it was something he'd brought on himself withhis cheating ways. He loved his two sons and did everything. Poetry was more a vehicle for bliss, not a showcase for her vices or her limitations or her woes. Preston, in their first year of marriage, remarked that she was a naturally happy person. Life hadn’t bruised her enough yet.Another spoke in his wheel of jealousy, she considered, sipping her hazelnut coffee. And she recalled how beautiful it was, sitting in those smoky cafés, watching the pedestrians pass beyond the French doors. They all looked like artists, an elite parade of Beat aristocracy.. More

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