Ferocity Summer Read Online Free PDF Page A

finally said what the hell. Maybe he wanted his soldiers to like him, or maybe he was just so sick to death of the whole war that he didn’t care anymore. Whatever the case, it seems that after just one little taste of raising hell, Sherman was hooked. He was the mighty potato smasher once again.
    I sat in the dark and shabby waiting room of Pointless Pursuits, our town’s only tattoo parlor, watching rain splatter on the porch outside. There was only so much money to be made in tattoos. The shop doubled as a drug dealing operation. That’s what we were doing there.
    Willow had sped into my driveway and whisked me away from my Cinderella day, but she was no fairy godmother. Her promise of mayhem, magic, and adventure had led us only as far as the shabby little roadside tattoo parlor with its purple neon sign and its creepy, grimy waiting area. Willow had left me to the companionship of the tattered couch with its stained afghan and the coffee table piled high with tattoo magazines.
    â€œWait here. I’ll be right out,” she promised, disappearing through a beaded curtain into the shadowy depths of Pointless Pursuits.
    A couple minutes later, I looked up at the sound of rustling beads. There, standing in the doorway, was the woman of my dreams. The pinkishy amber light that made its way through the beads did an adequate job of highlighting her not-quite-hourglass figure. At first, I thought I must be trapped in a very realistic fantasy and wondered if it wasn’t some sort of secondhand high.
    â€œHeard you guys got suspended,” Andrea said, stepping out into the waiting room.
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    â€œThat sucks, but hey, at least you get a day off. I called in sick. Had to have this minor surgery. I would show you, but I’m supposed to leave the bandage on until it heals.”
    I imagined a butterfly tattooed on one of her round ass cheeks, but no such luck. Andrea offered me a peek at her bandaged shoulder.
    â€œA rose,” she explained. “I know, not very original, but I figure it’s timeless.”
    â€œIt will look pretty with a dress,” I said. Flirtation is not my strong suit.
    â€œI heard Meg Ambrosio got a Davies Pauliny tattoo last week. That’s just way too trendy. I mean, how do you even know they’ll be around next year?”
    I shrugged. I wanted to point out that Davies Pauliny, who had sprung from the ether only a month ago, might not be around in another four weeks, let alone another year, but I was having trouble making ordinary conversation. I couldn’t concentrate. Every sexual fantasy I had dreamed up involving Andrea was spinning through my mind simultaneously.
    â€œCall me some time,” Andrea said. “We can hang out.”
    I felt dizzy.
    Andrea left, and I returned to passing the time. I watched the rain fall. I flipped through a couple of tattoo magazines without seeing anything. I wished I’d brought a book. There was a drip somewhere in the building. The persistent drip, drip, drip echoed in my head until it was completely impossible to ignore. There was no sign of Willow.
    For some time, Willow had cultivated the image of being a relatively straight arrow, a person who kept her vices in check. Most people assumed she was a decent girl who drank a respectable amount of alcohol and smoked the occasional pot. Even her own drug dealer couldn’t entirely see through Willow’s well-crafted exterior. Only I knew that for the past ten months Willow had been hitting the drugs in a big-time way, that every penny she had was invested solely in digestible substances that would leave her in an altered state, that lately this insatiable passion seemed to be growing at a frenetic rate. My own experience with drugs was practically nonexistent, but I knew that Willow’s present flight pattern could be stopped only by serious clinical help or death. We had been best friends off and on since second grade, a fact that