when i discovered the art of writing, it was as if i discovered gold on the other end of the rainbow. i was fourteen and had just gotten my first manuel typewriter. little did i know that this yellow original wordpress would first produce several short horror stories before moving on to more dramatic stories about broken hearts, drugs, suicide—things i noticed going on around me.
Jail just wasn’t his thing. Nor was the outside, what some called the civilian world. A little too much anger isn’t good for the soul. Mr. V. could not understand this. A human boiling pot indeed. “You carry that anger like that, it’s gonna bring you down,” Coach said.
“Pan dulce, un dólar.”
My attention quickly diverted from meditating on my tacos al pastor to a little brown girl selling Mexican sweet bread. She reminded me of my niece when she was ten. She was a skinny brown tomboy whose head was a waterfall of black hair that flowed to her lower back.