“Then I hear my dad again: ‘Forget about being fancy. Forget about Michael effin’ What’s-his’face. Mohammed Ali, there’s your man. Never take your eye off the enemy.′ Then I star praying, ‘Please, God, whoever you are, I’m sorry I don’t go to church, or say prayers every night neither, but could you please let me bust up Stacey Straun’s fat face? Just this once? ”
“Plop! Something lands on me. Help! My voice gets stuck. He’s got me. He’s really got me this time. I can feel his hands around my throat. Let go! I go to grab his hands. Get off me! Hang on, they’re my hands. They’re my hands around my neck. You idiot, let go of yourself!”