I had packed my car and parked it around the corner. All my life, 18 years worth at least, reduced to the contents of a Datsun B210.
My legs were trembling as I made my way to the area below my parent's room. I was afraid that my voice would fail. I was temped to go inside and urinate before running away. But I wanted to get away now.
I looked around the room. . . King James Version, St. Vincent de Paul furniture. . . pictures which would make our lives seem happy to any outsider. Was I going to become an outsider by leaving?
Oh shit, a noise. This is my chance to add to it. "Is this what you wanted?!?" and, with that vague and milquetoast phrase, I ran to my car.
