Monroe
Wilmington, Delaware
I didn’t like what was happening to me. All of this time, since getting out of prison, I managed to stay out of trouble and keep my temper under control. Suddenly things were getting away from me. Three times today I thought about calling Knuckles and telling him “yes,” then have him give me the name of that scum in Philly. And though I managed to fight off the feeling, I worried whether I could do it again tomorrow and the next day.
A passing thought came to me about something Rosa said the other day, about another shooting on Harrison Street, in the Presidents’ District. That made me think of Monroe. I hadn’t seen him since prison, and though the relationship we had there had endured for more than a few years it was still a tentative one, founded on mistrus
