It was a Saturday and my girlfriend and I were on the way to her brothers funeral across town when my phone rang. We had just turned onto 135th street. “I’m pissed!” I hear the caller say, “and I want to get wasted! There’s a liquor stores two doors down from where I’m working and a drink really sounds good.” “Where are you?” I asked. “I’m working at 135th and Antioch.” As I look up out the front window of the car I notice the road sign pass overhead as we pull through the intersection, 135th and Antioch. “I’m right here,” I said, “Everything is going to be ok.”
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