The Blues & Billie Armstrong 28
KETCHUP STAINS & SUMMER DREAMS
Previously in The Blues & Billie Armstrong…
“Now, see—the man knows what he’s doing. He has a plan.” my father pointed his empty glass around the room, emphasizing his point to each of us in turn. “Give him a chance.”
Between school and work and baseball and her training to be a waitress, I’d hardly seen Billie for a couple days.
We hadn’t met at the window. She was gone too early in the morning and home too late at night. A few weeks before, Billie Armstrong was nothing but a rumor to me. Now I actually missed having her around to nudge me, joke me, guilt me, shock me into a larger view of everything, including myself, and especially my mother. And the pink lipstick envelope.