This could be a dark tale!
It’s not.
I don’t think so.
Maybe.
I can’t sleep. It’s 1:03 a.m. Almost September. The weather is warm, even though it’s football season. There’s this huge moon in the sky, but I can’t see it from the basement, where my bedroom is. I saw it plenty.
Tonight.
Dark tale? My dad did commit suicide.
Not so dark? I’m me. I hop up and down.
Where to start?
Not in the ’70s, when Jerri was a little girl. Not ten years ago, when I was five and found Dad dead in the garage. How about last November?
I should really be exhausted. But I’m not.
I, Felton Reinstein, stand on my bed because I can’t sleep.
Go.