I’ve got a surprise guest!” Over the years he’s done this thing where he’ll randomly bring home clients he finds especially memorable or unique. Usually they’re semi-famous musicians or superquirky artists who start out in his tattoo chair and end up at our dinner table. I look to the doorway. Squinting at the silhouette beside my father, I see there’s something familiar in the way the stranger is standing. The shadowed figure moves into the living room with the hint of a limp and I nearly scream in surprise. “Hey, Dyna,” Pierce says, “what’re you doing here?” “Um, I live here,” I say, in such a way that I don’t need to add, “And what the hell are you doing here?” “Oh, wow.” Pierce looks amused as he glances back and forth between my dad and me. “Yeah, I guess I can see a little resemblance.” I glare at him accusingly. “I look just like my mom.” “Hey, Dyna Glider,” Dad says. “How do you know Private Pierce?” “Pierce goes to Ulysses,”
