by Rich Wright When I was six, my father took me to the circus. My father drank a lot, and

The dog barks, and the caravan moves on.
by Rich Wright When I was six, my father took me to the circus. My father drank a lot, and
The war was almost over but we didn’t know it yet. I was still in bed. It was dark, but
It was the middle of the morning on the Fourth of July and the rain was pounding down. Dirty, gray