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Story Notes:

Written in 2010.
Thank you, Dad, thought Lewis Nixon, for the drinking and adultery. You’d be proud of me. Thank you, Mom, for your tough skin and tolerance for the intolerable. I couldn’t have survived the war without it. Thank you both for passing down your wonderful, fucked-up genes to your kids. Wish you were still alive so you could see what it’s done to us. Poor Blanche, she just couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t know if I can, either.

He thumbed the hammer of his old Browning 1911, raised it to his temple, and listened to the empty snap of metal.


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