But my little angel is and always has been Monica. When I saw some punk beating up a kid who he thought was queer, I chose to intervene. I always carr... a gun on me. I walked up to the motherfucker and shot him in the head at point blank range. I thought it was self-defense. The law didn't see it that way. The cops would have let the guy go for killing that poor kid and would have quietly high-fived him for ridding the great redneck state of Tennessee of one more queer. I wasn't going to let. Thinking to myself softly, softly catch the monkey, I placed my left foot on the chair fully exposing myself and holding the chair back, the oppressive silence was broken only by our breathing, hers especially, noticeably deeper now as the pencils scratched and slithered across the paper, her eyes flicking up and down twix my body and her sketch. A silence that said so much, her face returning to its normal pale complexion as she worked, time I thought to say something. “Rose, have you done my. More

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