We read to Bug to get her to sleep: Right now we're wrapping up the story of a botched rape accusation in Alabama, and today I came home to find an Amazon box I didn't remember ordering.
Well, fuck. My old buddy Mike wrote a book about the worst thing, the worst time, most of us can imagine.
It's odd to be put down Mike's requiem and start beating out the cadence of Wayne Fontana's "Game of Love" on belly. But Bug digs the oldies music, and when she squeaks the book goes down. Sometimes she can be entertained by the sound of a story, sometimes she needs more. This is the only way anything gets read around here: bit by bit, between intervals of shushing or shitchanging.
Congrats and condolences, Mike. The best dedication I can offer is to read your story to my kid.
