The Taste of Bitter Beer
The phone rang at six in the morning. Marc Williams was eleven years old and trying to sleep. He slept with one eye open most nights. It was not a metaphor. He actually kept one eye open, just a slit, watching the crack of light under his apartment door, listening for footsteps in the hallway. The phone rang again. His mother rolled over and answered it. Marc heard her say, "Hello?" and then...
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