They shot Mr. Malcolm dead, right out in front of Clyde's Place.

Mr. Malcolm, they called him. He was fourteen years old. Not much of a mister yet, and no chance to be one now.

Smiles win me more lies than hatred.

I wasn't in control of that decision at all. It was as if my legs had more courage than the rest of me and started without consulting the other parts. It was like watching a movie, I was distanced from what was happening, but I hated seeing it.

A red line on the light green kitchen wall.