How in God’s name ... this little black boy from Coal Hill who split from his baby ... Jessica, baby, Daddy gonna come back someday.... Prove your manhood. Go Airborne!
Ty rolled, grabbed an alarm bottle from before the door stile. He was high, mellow, coming down, aching, shaking, sad, afraid to go into the hall. He urinated into the bottle. His johnson burned.
OPM. OPM became his opium as much as speedballs became his addiction. OPM—other people’s money.
Ty’s second herpetic eruption lasted half as long as the initial attack. In its wake, partly because of his perception of his new vulnerability, he doubled his financial efforts, his assault on that piece of the American pie he so desperately wanted, needed, needed to assuage all the assaults and abuses by which he’d been victimized,
