The Man from Indianapolis
The Man from Indianapolis I Monday mornings at the high school always felt the same: fluorescent lights humming too loud, the smell of floor wax and teenage sweat, and a line of students at Brenda's office door who all had some problem that needed solving and nobody else was going to solve it. Ricky Torres was first in line that morning. He was seventeen, skinny, dark-haired, and had the...
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