A Storytelling Of Rocks

…my father loved chess. He was also fond of birds. Furthermore, he loved to read.

You see where this is going, right? Because my mother didn't. There she is, laid up in the hospital bed, holding me to her chest, and she was so drugged up that when the person came around with that whole birth certificate bit, and asked what my name was?

There was my dad, forever reliable, to blurt out: "Rook."


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