Instead she dyed it a platinum blond and faithfully kept her weekly appointment at the hair dressers, which just so happened to be the chicken shit ye...low linoleum floored kitchen of my house. She would come over after dinner. Nanny would boil water and the smells of instant coffee, cigarette smoke and peroxide would mix like a cherished family recipe. I would sit under the ugly green and yellow table that would fetch a pretty penny today as art deco or retro. I played quietly with my Barbie’s. "That's because, Brother, you are young and straightforward." Then I turned hard, donning my shoes and reaching for my coat. "Me, I like to think I'm straightforward as well. I do know I'm not chicken."With that I shrugged into my coat as I left the room.I reached the front door without meeting anyone and went outside and looked up at the stars. About two minutes later, the young man joined me."I'm not chicken." I never said you were. I said I'm not." Twisted words." Assume, Brother, that I am. More

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