Campbell’s Pond
Lester was a fat, pale, pimply boy. Sixteen years old, and he had made only a few friends in his life.
Girlfriends? None.
As bad as things were for him at his old home in Missoula, city living had its advantages. He could always trade the hostile faces at his school or neighborhood for the merely indifferent ones a few blocks away where no one knew him.
Then came Uncle Frank.
Uncle, right.
Uncle Frank claimed to be an Indian, but Lester couldn’t see it. He looked more Italian than anything else. He fancied himself a medicine man, but his only medicine was meth, and after Lester’s mom was thoroughly hooked on the s**t Frank cooked, their house had become his house.
The arrangement had started with Frank crashing and eating there in exchange for free product. But
