My son was fifteen when I took him with me to break into a house. It was Jimmy’s house, a guy that had me living in morbid fear during my high school years. That was all thirty years ago, but I found him online. He still lived in our old neighbourhood just around the corner from the house he grew up in.
We went in through the back door. The key was under a fake rock. The house was dark and cluttered. There were kid’s drawings on the fridge and a photograph of Jimmy in a wheelchair.
We went in through the back door. The key was under a fake rock. The house was dark and cluttered. There were kid’s drawings on the fridge and a photograph of Jimmy in a wheelchair.
