But, the angry boy just kept fighting a valiant, but futile struggle against the handcuffs trapping his wrists and ankles. Anger and fear crumbled wha... little control he had left. Panic filled him. Thrashing around like a mad man he attempt to free himself. It was do or die. He was struggling so hard the car was starting to weave as he banged his head, shoulders, and knees into the glass above him and onto the sides of the car. Wild mad flailing. Jenny reached out to stop him, but as soon as. Those were merry days and the birds sang often, and no cars came along the road all that often, and in the early evening da would watch baseball and we’d eat homemade fries and ride bikes or throw hard green apples at bees nests or something. Old grandma Bernice lived with us then, and she was hard and old but fun, and was Irish and raised me hard and Irish and could kick your ass for anything if she had a mind to. Her grandfather Peter had come from Belfast runnin’ from the Brits and so she. More

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