9
Homecoming
What is it about times of trouble that send a person home? No matter how far you’ve come, no matter how much you think you’ve changed—as soon as the s**t hits the fan all pretense is forgotten.
Home for me was not an apartment in Decatur. And family was not the yuppie larvae I had been running around with for the last few years at Emory. Home was Doraville, and family was the guys from the neighborhood.
I was not a very good brother. When my mom passed, the first thing I did was to get out of the neighborhood. I had been accepted into Emory, but couldn’t afford to live on campus, so I ended up in Decatur.
Most of my buddies weren’t exactly college material. Several of them had done a spin or two behind bars. One had gotten murdered a few months after I left. Little Mikey
