“The summer sun was not meant for boys like me. Boys like me belonged to the rain.”
“But Aunt Margaret doesn't like boys," objected Elnora."Well, she likes me, and I used to be a boy. ...”
“It's raining in Washington tonight. Plump, warm summer rain that covers the sidewalks with leopard spots. Downtown, elderly ladies carry their houseplants out to set them on the fire-escapes, as if they were infirm relatives or Boy Kings. I like that.”
“He brought up that game like it was yesterday. For me, it was eons ago. Those memories belonged to a boy who died alongside his parents in a house fire.”
“No one puts his hand on my boy. Not like that. Get me?”
“It looked to me like a vamp version of a pissing contest. Men will be boys.”