Chapter 4
Another thirty minutes found Frank walking down a weathered sidewalk, past old bungalows with new cars parked out front, toward a loud and crowded pizza bar with a neon sign over the door. Mojo was spelled out in humming red and yellow, the letters curved and artsy. Frank missed the days when this had been an old black man’s barbershop and the streets were gritty and honest.
He’d spent many a night in Mojo with Yvonne, laughing and happy. Later, he’d spent time at the greasy bar pouring his heart out to Horace, at the same time pouring whiskey and beer down his throat.
That was how he learned heartache’s a sponge that soaks alcohol in. You can’t drown your sorrows, but you can water them and help them grow.
He stepped inside, found an empty barstool, ordered a slice and a sel
