btmeyers
btmeyers
Jul 10, 2017 · 1 min read

My parents had nine children — six boys. My father would arrive home from work, put his belt around his neck, and mix martinis. He and my mother would sit at the dining room table sipping martinis and smoking cigarettes as the chaos and holy hell of nine children swept throughout their house.

My parents were madly in love with each other. Crazy love. Can’t breathe without you love.

“Light me, baby,” she would say. He would light her cigarette, then his, and they would begin the ritual.

It was beautiful.

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