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777 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 30, 2014

Apparently, my five-year impersonation of an angry psychopath made everyone assume that I was also a lush.
A slight flush found his cheekbones as his lips slid into a lazy grin that looked to be composed of trouble and plans to inflict it. He actually started to bother me.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee confused the hell out of me. I had refused to fill the machine because I didn't want to hear any comments from my coffee pot, the little bitch.

That book had his undivided attention, and that made me flush because that book also happened to be one of the few things in the house that proved I was more than an angry hobo who chewed his coffee and fixed clocks.





"Anyone unfortunate enough to pass by my sunless and decrepit yard would find me, and that was usually enough to convince them to keep walking. The chair I lurked in happened to be threadbare when I brought it outside years before, but had recently started to rot and splinter with constant abuse. That’s why I kept it. It added to my appeal. My choice of attire might’ve passed for a vagrant’s pajama’s, and to hell with shoes. I didn’t even see the point in combing my hair when I knew that the plaster dust would turn it from black to gray by noon. I’d have to clean it when I went inside anyway and its always been very hostile when my combs challenged it to duel. Add to that the glare of impending murder that I’d been improving daily, and nobody ever bothered me."