Spencer and Sal had known each other for as long as either could remember, but had only been friends since middle school. Spencer grew up in a subdivision of well-manicured lawns and streets named after wildflowers. Sal lived across the thoroughfare, on a block populated by run-down apartment buildings and small, five-room houses with weed-choked lawns strewn with broken plastic toys and battered lawn furniture.
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Introduction
I am a Gen X lawyer, powerlifter, music afficionado, veteran record collector, beginner guitar player, husband, and father (not in that order). I started writing short fiction in 1999, then took an extended break from 2002 until 2021, in which time I wasted my twenties partying in Chicago; got my JD from a Big Ten law school (summa cum laud for anyone keeping score); began my career with the prestigious, workaholic, and very evil law firm Wolfram & Hart*; got married and had two children; and nursed an ever increasing alcohol habit.
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The Dirty Kids – Part One (of Seven)
Spencer sat at the wheel of the Honda Civic his father had given him as a high school graduation present, holding an open eight-ounce bottle of Maximum Strength Robitussin in his lap. It was mid-October—homecoming Saturday at the State University—and he had the engine running in the parking lot of a drugstore about a half mile off campus.
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