“It’s time.” I look up from my memories. Cane is poised like a giant tiger that’s about to obliterate some unknowing gazelle. The bastard’s actually smiling about the magnificent ass-whupping he’s about to deliver and that’s why me and Big C are peoples. Because I’m smiling, too. Life, death, struggle, whatever: It’s comp-licated, laden with strife and disagreements, regret, poisoned hearts and betrayals. We’re all survivors of something. And nothing helps all that muck disappear into the ether, at least momentarily, like truly wailing on some deserving fool of a soul-sucking phantom.
I love, love, love the writing, but am finding it really hard to keep an interest in the stories.