Because my father was a violent drunk there was a dread that seemed to permeate the area as soon as I drove into the town. Even though everything was green and fertile there seemed an undercurrent of old memories that might flood the town with stories that would best remain burried.
As I drove through the town there was little that I remembered. The white steeple of the First Christian Church dominated a hillside. A small grammar school still stood behind the church. A dead dog was decaying in the roots of a tree.
If this was a catharsis it was a bad idea
