I still don't understand what that paper meant. But I don't care. I took my mom's words to heart. I have my own family now, a good wife, Candy, and the kids, and I work hard at the ordinance factory to put food to table best I can, church prayer toil bower on the weekly, regular at community events, doing my best to distribute some of my own success to the lesser in the town through the turkey draw and other such. This place has seen its share of knocks, that's for sure. People who've gone missing in inexplicable ways. You remember zeke morris? He was a good, quiet kid, liked to whistle to himself while he walked the streets at dusk trailing some gewgaw or other that he'd put together with his brother, toronto unit, at the garage bench in their house on Wilson--a wooden dog on wheels one week, a cowboy that moved its hands as it rolled the next. Their life wasn't an easy one--their father worked shift as a staff attorney at Skadden and everyone knew they had trouble making ends meet--but they were affable and kind and loved to play baseball. When's the last time you heard anyone mention zeke morris?

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