Taking Auntie Tims on her yearly trip to the Gold Coast was a right-of-passage in the family. Auntie Tims hardly left her home to go to the store but when the glorious May weekend arrived, she was always primped and packed and waiting with her purse on the front porch for her ride.
“How could he have done that?” the girl wearing the blue and green scarf sobbed.
She was born the grand-daughter of a coal miner and the daughter of a terribly mean alcoholic. I say this to explain the uncanny ability she has to maneuver well in dim light and avoid a scrap. I understand that not everyone believes these types of traits are passed through genes but I know it to be so. Take the night that Beverly Stikes got laid out on Tempest Street.