![]() ![]() Now we’re at a complete standstill on the steep road that leads to the top of the island. “First, we’re going to the morgue,” Theresa announces with a little skip. Who wants to face a convicted felon in your pajamas? ![]() ![]() “I’m having a devil of a time setting up extra circuits in the laundry.” Smallest kid of all my cousins, shortest kid in my kindergarten class and on my block too. The only guns on the island are up high in the towers or the catwalks, because one flick of the wrist and a gun carried by a guard is a gun carried by a criminal. This is the dock guard tower, a popcorn stand on stilts where somebody’s dad sits with enough firepower to blow us all to smithereens. The convicts we have are the kind other prisons don’t want.Ī full moon cuts a white path across the bay while the wind blows, making something creak and a buoy clang in the distance. ![]()
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