He held up his hand in almost the same gesture, and the yelling quieted. Trying to use your voice on me. Then, to the air, “Mom, will you,fer chrissakes, get out of here? This is in very poor taste. You can't tell? she asked.
I raised the sleeves on my shirt and showed my own healing scratches. For better or worse, fool or artist, young snotnose or old fart, I am precisely theperson, precisely the artist, I have made of myself. I made the decision in that moment that I would endanger all these nice people. But he had always felt compelled to play with the new, stolen item, directly in front of hisparents, that same night.
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