"I'll fucking kill you if you tell anyone."Devon grinned, his eyes showing clear intent for boyish mayhem. "Sure, Iwon't tell Sullivan that you needed...the night light. Two nights in arow."Mark shouted, "I kept hearing these fucked up sounds. Like this constantscraping metal against metal. And the sink was dripping. It reminded meof something. I'm not using it tonight. No fucking way."The grin never left Devon's face. "Sure, man. Well I didn't hearnothing. So what is it, your imagination or. Go figure. Maybe I should be an ex-hippie, but I think I’d rather go to college to be an English teacher. They at least get paid for reading about other places.You can also beachcomb for stories. Where did that piece of a pallet’s journey begin? A trawler off Alaska? A tuna cannery in Indonesia? I know something about fishing and canning. The story might be about a girl holding her own in a man’s world. My English teacher Ms. Rennick would like that. To write it, though, I’d need to get the. More

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