Listen for the Lie

by Amy Tintera

It’s an apology chicken, for my boyfriend. It’s like that engagement chicken. The one women make to persuade their boyfriends to propose? Except this is a “sorry I didn’t tell you I’m the prime suspect in my friend’s murder” chicken. Apology

I’m still defined by everything that happened to me in my hometown. By my first husband, and the life I had in my early twenties. I’m like the football jock who never gets over peaking in high school, except I’m the tragic murder version. Fuck, that’s depressing.