He slipped it over his head, grateful for the warmth and concealment itprovided. He clumsily climbed into the cab. Bob drove to the area oftown know... as skid row. He checked into a sleazy motel with nothing but aquizzical look from the desk clerk. Bob showered and lay on the bed. Hewas unable to sleep so he spent the time in serious reflection. Bobdearly loved his wife and owed her so much. She had given him thestrength to continue after he had killed their daughter. She never. It’s interesting to see what comes to mind when you’re told to write something that explains why you are who you are. I’ve thought of telling you the story of how I learned to ride a bike, secondhand since I hardly remember since I was so young, I thought of telling you about losing a tooth in a bowl of mac n’ cheese once at the babysitter’s house, I thought of telling you how I got inspiration to write my first story. I thought about telling you about my first real fist-fight in school, about. More

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