Last bit of the prologue (I hope) We lived at Grandma's house for most of a year, then we moved to a 2 family flat several blocks away. A friend of a friend helps us move, and he just moved himself in too. His name was Tom, and he owned a shotgun which sat propped in the hallway. I learned guns have safety switches about 7 years later. Our new place was across the street from a bar. In South St. Louis there is a church or a tavern on every block. The dice roll of fate granted us a place with a Budweiser sign out front. Most warm nights we would be awakened by the sound of some drunk pissing on the side of our house. Tom would grab the gun, sneak outside and scare the crap out of the poor unlucky sod who mistook our wall for a urinal.