I lay in the dark thinking about the difficulties of family, how crazy and crooked the stories of a bloodline can be.

Luck was something you either earned or invented through strength of character. You had to come by it honestly; you could not trick or bluff your way into it.

Come with me into the world and reclaim your independence. You stand to gain so much, and riches are the least of it.

It is true, I thought. I am living a life.

Returning his pen to its holder, he told us, 'I will have him gutted with that scythe. I will hang him by his own intestines.' At this piece of dramatic exposition, I could not hep but roll my eyes. A length of intestines would not carry the weight of a child, much less a full grown man.

He is not bad, I don't think. Perhaps he is simply too lazy to be good.

Our blood is the same, we just use it differently.