A Catholic highschool close to Boston in 1985. A time of suicides, fitness center humiliations, smoking for newbies, bronchial asthma assaults, and incendiary teenage infatuations. Infatuations with a lady (Allison), with a band (The Smiths) and with an album, Meat is Murder, that was once so uncooked, so vibrant and so melodic you could hold to it like a lifeboat in a storm.
In this incredible novella Joe Pernice tells the tale of an asthmatic child's discovery of Meat is homicide.
Here is a brief exceropt:
One morning as i used to be walking my well past the bronze plaque commemorating the deaths of 1 scholar and one motorcyclist, my necktie flapping like a windsock, Ray floored the brake pedal of his circumvent as he closed in on me. Fifty mile an hour site visitors got here to a screeching, approximately murderous halt in the back of him. He leaned over and rolled down the passenger aspect window in a single fluid movement. He allotted with formalities whereas I marveled on the audacity of his using and, tossing whatever at me, winked and stated, "Here. i'll kill myself." He pegged the fuel, leaving a shockingly strong patch of rubber for one of these shitty vehicle. within the gutter, sugared with sand positioned down in the course of the winter's final snow, I observed written in crimson felt ink on protecting tape caught to a smoky-clear cassette: "Smiths: Meat."