Confessions of a Bronx Bookie

I tried to drown my demons with whiskey, but I found out real devils can swim.

I skipped two short steps and walloped the back of his head with an energy-charged swing of the pipe. The street collided with his jaw.

The longer the wars, the younger the men who must finish them.

In Nam, the jungle's heat was heavy, and like a spoiled overweight child, it insisted on being carried everywhere.

I crashed the pipe murderously down onto his mouth and heard his upper teeth shatter at the gums.

The silence became palpable and merciless in its depths. The only sound came from my car’s radio. The Temptations towed me to tears.

The guys I owed were serious people. I was so busy raising cash; I barely had time to ignore my creditors.

My old man left Ireland's stone, green fields to migrate to the glass, concrete canyons of New York in 1950.