The black cane whapped against the counter in front of me and I dropped my bowl of cereal. At least it was sans milk.
“You’re next.” Marcus let the cane tip fall to the floor. “And you’re running out of time.”
I surveyed my older brother sitting there in his kitchen chair; acting like he ruled this family; and not apologizing one bit for the mess he created. “Marcus Willby, you are deranged.”
“Don’t call me that.” His lower lip pushed out beyond his wispy moustache. He shuttered his big brown eyes,
Published on June 22, 2009 05:26