If I walk up the street, back from Kum-n-Go to get an Icee with Mountain Dew & cherry mixed, I can see all the getter bug traffic buzzing in the backyard. I decide to make the block, strolling ever-so-casually so as not to attract the police and the Black knights that patrol the area. You can see the tweekers acting like they are raking leaves or working on cars or something. But I know. I can tell. Unfortunately I am one of them. I just do not want to be seen in the daylight with them.

I make the block and come across the parking lot across from the front porch with its cute green awning and matching shutters on the windows and door; a place that almost fools you, it does appear to look like a home. You can see my husband–king of tweekers–attempting to rake leaves and blend in to the two trees in the front yard. This is not the man I married. This is not the scene I want to relive. But it’s too late. The Black Knights have rolled in to cap off “Getter Bug City” peacefully fooling me as Home Sweet Home.

(The prison does not allow us to the print the names of the auther)