Tool
By R.W. Clinger
“What are you looking at, Sir Lance-A-Pot?” Marcus says from behind me on the floor. He is playing some video game with dragons, castles, and handsome knights in shining armor. “Get away from the window and give your new neighbor some space. Help me slay this three-headed dragon before he has me for lunch.”
Sometimes I think Marcus lives with me in my two-bedroom saltbox in downtown Pittsburgh because he’s always around. But my bestie doesn’t. He has his own place across the Allegheny River on the North Side, next to Heinz Stadium in the Mexican War Streets District. Maybe he likes my place better than his, although, if ever asked, I will surely disagree with the person regarding this statement, hands down, since his place is vast, three levels, and has an incredibl
