Writing

“Wear a skirt tomorrow for me.” He puts out his homemade cigarette without taking another puff, and I’m grateful he didn’t offer any to me. His comment raises the hair on my arms and quickens my heartbeat.

Wild how “hood” books are banned, but true crime isn’t. In this cinder-block dumpster, somewhere in middle-of-nowhere Texas, some guy in a nice suit decided it’s healthier to spend hours on end living through the eyes of serial killers than to read about urban america.