It’s not the Jetstons. Dad took the STOL to work, every day.

Softly humming the main title theme to “Indiana Jones,” the orange Dodge Aries returned that evening.

“Simon,” He said said to my brother, as he passed Turbo, as well, “other Simon.”

Turbo. He was a stoaway, in the mid-nineties, and at this point?

He knew it!

Stephen “Turbo” Tuboz wasn’t here to “protect lil bobby,” he just liked to roll!

Simon wasn’t that guy.

Simon had the thirst.

“Tie me on,” he said, “Turbo! Hit. Me.”

Several crosses, then he was throwing elbows. I was curled up. Shaking, in the hallway closet.

“He can take it,” Simon said.

I said nothing.

“So can I!”

My brother. Kind of a baddass.

This wall was cuming down
This wall was coming. Down?