”“I don't know. Sirens woke me. I smelled smoke, so I got dressed and ran down the street to see. The roof caved in soon after I got there,” I said, watching video of the inferno that had been Main Street Rare Books, my friend's home and life.“Do you have any idea why Brown would do that? We know the business was turning a profit, so arson for insurance doesn't sound right,” Bertoli offered. “Besides, he had to know he'd die, starting it that way.”“I never saw that expression on his face before. He looked like a madman. That's what gets me. Frank and I have been close friends since high school. I know his moods. He was fine when I left. He wasn't despondent or upset. He seemed excited about helping me get information about the drawing I bought. This doesn't make sense.”“I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Singleton,” Bertoli said.“If we're done here, I'd like to go. I think I ate something I shouldn't have.”After being violently ill in the restroom in the police station. Usually it's a just a comment, or blocking your path and making you shuffle around them, eyes down, knowing not to look, not to engage. The comments are always the worst part, for some reason - they always know how to pick away at what makes you most self-conscious... and your body gives them a lot to choose from.When you were a teen, you never seemed to "man up" like the other boys did, and your face was more noticeable for your fuller lips, softly fluted nose, and thick eyelashes than a strong jaw. Your shoulders stayed narrow and your hips, well, they didn't. It seemed like everything you ate went straight to your ass, and though you tried dieting, it didn't do enough - the wiggle stayed in your walk, and the men by the door sure noticed. As always, they'd laugh at you, but you'd move on - it's fine.You know you should stop them, stand up for yourself, but they're all a head taller than you and much more build. You're not a toothpick by any stretch, but, well, you've always been.
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