I look back at the road. Back in the foster home, I forgot to feed my two goldfish once and they died. I cried like a baby, and I felt like shit for weeks. After I got taken, sitting down in that basement in my corner by the metal locker, I’d be scratching designs on the floor with a nail while Stone and the older guys played cards or whatever and I’d think about those fish and I’d still feel like shit. But then we’d hear the footsteps up at the door, and if it wasn’t mealtime, we knew they’d be dragging one or two of us up there.
