Friendship's Legacy: Young Lives, Fatherly Murders
- godsbiscuits
- Apr 15
- 4 min read
The desert wind whispers through the Vegas of my memory, carrying the scent of cheap hairspray and the faint echo of Paula Abdul. I was a skinny, awkward 12-year-old back then, all limbs and nervous energy, navigating the bizarre social landscape of Jo Mackey 6th Grade Center. My bangs defied gravity thanks to Aqua Net, and my mouth, unfortunately, rarely engaged my brain.
