Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

heel. It was only a small cut, no longer than a postage stamp, but the skin was dry and cracked, and it began to bleed onto the linoleum.

I pressed a paper towel against the scratch, my fingernails tapping against the side of the wooden kitchen chair as the cold draft continued to blow across the floor.

The next morning, the waiting continue reading …