Newark is where my family came from – three generations before me were born there, and my father left as a child.

Working in the city for four years was an honor and a privilege – and an absolute education on mankind.

I wrote a short story in the summer of 2014 that is fiction – but which many in Brick City would recognize, if just for a core nugget of truth. My story of LaShon and Tariq is pretty familiar to the people who know the South Ward – and those who felt and heard each excruciating night during the summer of 2013, a hot and murderous time.

Besides borrowing my title from Hemingway, I would say this story owes more to Poe than any other writer.

Published by The Cracked Eye, it is a response to a British short story about lads running amok in the 20th century. We here in America have always had a tendency to do things bigger, louder, and bloodier than our Old World counterparts. While that means you can win world wars, and make the world safe for freedom fries and McDonalds franchises, it also means you can eat yourself from within.

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