Chapter 17Quarter after six, I turned the corner between Olivetti and Riley Avenue, crossing Emerson Street where my Grams used to live, and I found myself wandering down shady passageways in my mind, feeling melancholy, my eyes prickling at happy memories of my spitfire grandmother.
I smiled at the afterthought of her raunchy, sordid storytelling, and how most of it was embellished for kicks. My Grams loathed her then caretaker Linda, a hippopotamus, a friendly woman with toe fungus and a kindhearted soul. She’d cracked jokes about the large, unhappy woman on my last visit. I felt bad for Linda, knowing she’d have to care for my tough-as-nails Grams morning, noon and night.
As much as my Grams despised Linda, I eventually learned it was my Grams way of passing time, each day, or trying
