Chapter 7
Brilliant yellow leaves gleamed in the tall oaks of Parklawn Cemetery. The massive trees stood guard over their charges. A soaring rustling danced in the upper branches, drowning the sound of traffic on Viers Mill Road. Perim lifted his face and breathed in the fall air. The smell of a fire wafted by, bringing with it the memories of the fireplace in the small efficiency apartment he and his mother had shared nearby. During the weeks they couldn’t afford heat, they lit a fire in a small covered fire pit, sometimes cooking noodles and hot dogs in a pot.
Those were the times he liked best—even when there was little to eat—because it was just his mom and him. No men were there to threaten him or make his mother scream in the night. Then the food got too scarce and his mother woul
