The first part of this story can be found here.
I didn’t look up as I walked past my father on my way out of the bar because I didn’t want him to see me leaving. Out on the sidewalk I considered my options for a minute and looked for a payphone.
I was walking towards the corner my…
The conclusion of the story I started earlier this week. Even by my standard’s this is fucked up.
Part one of a two part story.
I’ll never forget the night I spent with my father in September 1997. It was the first time anyone asked me how my mother died.
We were drinking at a bar in the Bronx when my father had introduced me to his secretary. My father’s job as a construction foreman…
From my story blog: Part one of a story about fathers and sons and lies, lies, lies.
A chronicle of things that sounded good at the time and a few things that turned out better than I expected.
You can also find me at: http://ayearofbillyjoel.tumblr.com/
