Mr. Turner was tired of living from Rubbermaid containers and cardboard boxes.The target’s wife had left for her weekly night of “cards with the g...rls,” which was code for drinking wine with friends, about twenty minutes ago. Routine. Creatures of habit, both of them. He’d be in the front room droning over the television. Car auctions of makes and models he would never afford, nodding in and out of boredom sleep until being woken up by the sound of keys scr****g against the lock. The deal had. He stood at six foot six, towering over me, who was only 5’7. He was kind of lanky, but muscular too. I stood there for a moment, in utter silence. Something had snapped in my brain as he hugged me. I was wet. Nothing was different about him. He wore the same hat, the same baggy pants, that were at least four sizes too big, and held up with a seat belt he had converted into a belt. The same wife-beater. The same everything he had worn to school today. He even smelled just like he always did.. More

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