You sit at a $5 minimum bet table to play heads-up with the dealer, but an old man sits to your right, his silver chest hair poking through the buttons of his Hawaiian shirt.
Nonfiction
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For Children Who Translate
From the handmade blond oak bookshelf, I took the V volume and walked to our dining table. I found the entry on Vietnam. There were only five pages, and I didn’t understand what I was reading.
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The Boys
I was a child full of cautions, ellipses, living in an insular world, always watching. I watched the physical irritation of my father, how his eyes jerked and his mouth narrowed at the slightest interruption.