Chapter 22: Fireman and RescueThe lock on pool boy’s bedroom door had been repaired; I didn’t have a key. If the house caught fire while Tacoma slept behind locked doors, I would have had to instruct a fireman to break the door down and save him. Or, I would have to save him myself, throw my weight against the door, crashing through its plane of wood, in rescue mode.
Being a writer, oftentimes scenes came to mind. I imagined a short scene after scolding the pool boy for breaking a house rule:
Blond hair falls over my blue eyes as the summertime temperature rises. My tired limbs carry me back to the house where I immediately fall into an empty bed after stripping down to bare flesh.
Without a shower, I have a few puffs on a Camel and swig on a long-necked beer. I eventually dab the red-t
