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172 pages, ebook
First published November 13, 2011
i don't need two eyes to see you're in love with my arty-assed son, boy.
“What artists do, their job in the world, is to see clearly. To lift up the blinders of money and greed and apathy, and then force everyone else to see what they see.”
He sat on the top porch step, and I took one of the rocking chairs. He played an old classical guitar with nylon strings, and the sound was muted and gentle, old Spanish songs and slow fingerpicking. After an hour, The Original came out and brought us coffee, and we sat together, watching the stars, rocking, listening to Jesse play, and watching the storm blow in.
I was going to drop to my knees in front of his beautiful brain.
"It's not just that I want to bend you over and fuck you till the cows come home, Jesse, but I also want to eat your brain raw, with both hands."
He was laughing, brought our joined fists up to his mouth for a kiss.