M listens to a radio special about child psychopaths while his wife sits in the passenger seat with her earbuds in, listening to her cheering-up music. They’re coming from Jordan’s middle school, which just opened for summer classes. The kid carried on like it was a labor camp, repeating that he may have gotten straight Cs, but he’d technically graduated eighth grade, hadn’t he? As he walked toward the building, Jordan flipped his parents the bird … READ MORE

M | Baltimore Review

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