My dad split, my mom had a string of loser boyfriends. The worst was this mean drunk named Frank. So, I'm 19. I come home and my mom's eye is swollen shut. Blood down the front of her shirt. Frank's just sitting in front of the TV with his hands in his shorts, calling out for another beer like nothing happened. And I just snapped. Went after him. He pulled a knife, that's how I got this. The prosecutor said I went a bit overboard, because Frank still can't walk. Or feed himself.
I'm glad you told me.
Well, I usually wait until date five or six to spring the whole ex-con thing on a girl.
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