Daddy laughs too and says, “Yeah, it’s real ghetto.” I like this moment, because it feels like we are friends. I place the beer I brought on the...table. Daddy’s dog, a friendly pit bull, puts his head on my leg for attention and petting. (I like the feel of his soft, white chest hair.) Daddy Pete smells clean, like soap, and I imagine his hair is damp, though I can’t tell for sure. I make some small talk about the view and muse aloud about what direction we’re facing; I have a terrible sense of. So, I don’t know. Maybe we belong here.”“Not for twenty years you don’t!” the child shrieked.“Easy, easy,” the father said, looking around. “You scream like that and the guard’ll come and take time away from our visit.”Paula did wipe away a tear now. “It wouldn’t be like this if we was rich.”Paul Macon, in another room, was making this same point to his own father.“I mean, I know you sold the weed, like, over and over, so I guess you really are guilty. But if you were rich like Ted, you’d be. More

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