SAM HOBBLED INTO THE ROOM WITH HIS USUAL LIMP. He managed to sit himself down in a dark oak chair padded with brown almost purple leather. Sam rested his cane against the table in front of him. The table was long, with ten seats on each side and two powerful chairs at each end. It was, like everything else in the room, made of wood. The walls were paneled, thick pillars held the arched ceiling up, and the window frames were gently hand carved. Outside, peaks of other mountains could be seen, snow covered the landscape. Despite his limp, Sam had a presence that required respect. He had limped his way around since ’53. He was fourteen when his best friend shot him in the knee. That time was an accident, but he had been shot plenty of times where it wasn’t after that. It also wasn’t the first time he’d seen a bullet break the skin either. At the age of five, he’d seen a policeman gunned down on their porch step.
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Each apartment had two bedrooms and a small kitchen space. From the window in his room, five year old Sam would often watch the road and shops the lined the street. One snowy December morning, two policeman pulled up to the building and knocked on the front door. A shotgun blast busted a hole in the door and in one of the policemen. The other one ran to his car and took cover while Sam’s family ran out the back. Sam’s father and mother figured he was too young to remember that bloody morning too well, but he remembered it perfectly. He also remembered seeing a homeless man getting stabbed when he was ten. By the time the crippling bullet came at fourteen, he already knew what was going to happen. Sam’s father didn’t wait five minutes after they were out of the hospital to slap him around for
Each apartment had two bedrooms and a small kitchen space. From the window in his room, five year old Sam would often watch the road and shops the lined the street. One snowy December morning, two policeman pulled up to the building and knocked on the front door. A shotgun blast busted a hole in the door and in one of the policemen. The other one ran to his car and took cover while Sam’s family ran out the back. Sam’s father and mother figured he was too young to remember that bloody morning too well, but he remembered it perfectly. He also remembered seeing a homeless man getting stabbed when he was ten. By the time the crippling bullet came at fourteen, he already knew what was going to happen. Sam’s father didn’t wait five minutes after they were out of the hospital to slap him around for