Chapter 10

As I ease down the street, watching the kids run, I remember the way Joey’s sweats pulled along the back of his thigh with each step, and the motion in the front of his sweats because he liked to wear them without any underwear. Then I see the high school coach narrow his eyes at me and I hit the gas, hurrying by. I won’t think of high school anymore, or football or sweat pants, or anything else that might remind me of Joey. God knows I’ll see him soon enough.

Pacific dead-ends at 26th Avenue, so I turn right, then left two blocks down onto Atlantic. The houses here have that weathered, washed out look that makes me think of living near the water. A lot of them have wooden siding that has faded from the sun and the sea, and one or two old cars still boast metal bumpers that have rusted from all the salt in the air.