Chapter 43: Clippings
3:41 A.M.
We had drinks together. Shot after shot of a cheap whiskey; we became a bit drunk together. He brought me up to speed on his life in the past eight months. He had built four handguns from scratch, all selling to the highest bidders at a private artillery auction near Miesen, which was twenty miles south. His welding job had kept him busy. He said, “The economy might suck, but everyone needs a welder.” His mother was ill with lung cancer and he said that he might move to Rochester, New York, in the upcoming months. His father was still in California, lost in the world of movie producing success.
“Your twin, how is he?” I asked, sitting across from Coose in his comfortable, but small, living room.
“Shawn is in Maine and fishing as usual. The guy likes his
