Preface.4

Wishing he'd screeched into the driveway smelling rubber and seeing smoke, he merely rolled. Fifteen miles an hour, as slowly as he could. A meek approach, as always. He could hear the TV on loud in the house. She always left it on, to comfort her, for the cat to watch, in case something happened in the world. She never wanted to be left out. On 9/11, she had no cable. She hated TV. It just didn't comply with her politics, her elitism, her veganism, her singularity, her individualism. He laughed at her for it and went to Finnegan's around the corner to watch basketball games. He'd been there for three hours this afternoon as a matter of fact, watching the Golden State Warriors dismantle his lowly Clippers. It didn't exactly put him in the mood for a confrontation. But he no longer had any choice in the matter.