Sixteen

    I was sixteen, a virgin, working at Vons as a bagger. One day an Italian woman named Monique was hired as a checker. Two honeydews sat on her chest; her ass was flat as a flour tortilla. She said she was twenty-six, but Tony the Butcher told me, “Don’t let her make-up fool ya kid, she’s over 30.” Continue reading

One Step off the Narrow

    The day I grabbed a microwave meal out of an Albertsons freezer and stuffed it down my pants, is the day I realized I might have a problem. My father once told me, “This one time, I caught a guy stealing my guitar. I tackled him and choked him for fifteen minutes til’ the police came. You know something, that’s the worst thing you could be in this world—A God damn thief.” And that’s exactly what I had become. Continue reading