Shedtown
He was raised that way. Back then they all were. Built like
statues. Growing up. The way their fathers taught them. To
take a fist like concrete jaws. Of generations past. That beat
life and wars with twelve ounce gloves. A glass of cheap
scotch. And a loaded shotgun. That painted holes in the wall.
Of the house by the ball diamond. Where your brother lost
two teeth in an alley. One finger in a bar fight. And three years
in a jungle.
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