All Agnes had was her husband and her cat. At least she loved Fluffy. She had been married to Walter for forty-two years and had loved him for the first couple of weeks. She thought so anyway, but it had been so long ago she couldn’t be sure. Walter had never treated her with affection, except once for a few minutes in the back of a Chevrolet.
About William W. Walton
William Walton was raised on a ranch in the Texas Hill Country by feral pigs, his rougher edges honed at Yale. A dissolute youth, he tried to become a deeper, more sensitive person, but that was hopeless. Instead, he commited himself to exploring the full richness of his natural superficiality. Except for his work with troubled adolescents, with abandoned animals, voyaging under sail, and his writing, he has rarely deviated from that path. William writes because he has to, and he hopes that his stories leave a bigger, more positive footprint on this earth than he has. He resides in Corpus Christi, Texas, with his wife Sharon, a native of Buffalo, N.Y.
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