It did, and his mood changed. He felt more alive, more meaningful, than he had at any instance during the private slideshow that held at least some semblance of a life-timeline for him. Pouring another glass of amber Puerto Rican Rum, he sniffed it gently, took a hit, and set the crystal down near the wireless mouse. He pressed ENTER again. Another black and white, appearing more like yellow and gray, image appeared on the screen. His thoughts quickly rolled in another direction as his anger rose to the surface. His father. Most people had some positive memories, somewhere, to go with the man that helped shape their lives. His old man wasn’t one of them, however, was he? “Positive, my ass,” he said softly. The man had been one of the worst sorts of people. The kind that sucked the life out of you with looks, innuendo, sarcasm, and a brand of berating that couldn’t be matched this side of an interrogation in some third-world prisoner-of-war dungeon.
