The Miss TwilaExiting the building, I found Uncle Ed seated on one of the many benches scattered up and down Front Street, which is the main thoroughfare. Plopping down next to him, I caught the whiff of his lit cigar, which was between his fingers. The hands were large, age spotted, and made me want to draw the shadows along the knuckles, and the veins that stood out along the back of it. For some reason, I wish I had my sketch book and pencil. I made a mental note of doing exactly that sometime soon.
“Now tell me. What"s wrong?”
“You have an hour?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “My time is yours.”
I launched into all that had happened only yesterday, which in the back of my mind seemed like all of it couldn"t have happened in just one day. It didn"t take an hour to tell, but
