We met in the principal’s office, the first day of school. There had been a mix-up; he, DeVon Miles, a fourth grader, had been assigned to a third-grade class. I, Devin Myles, belonged in third but had been sent to fourth.
I am trying to sneak two ounces of primo marijuana that I have carried all the way from Evansville, Indiana, to Seco, Kentucky, past the producer of the CBS Evening News and into the double-wide trailer where my father anxiously waits for it.
….the crossed branches—last summer’s skeleton—
scrape for entry, for permission, at the stained windows.