Junction City A text, “In my office, now.” I got out of my cubicle and walked towards Lt. McConnel’s office. My resume needs two years in narcotics to get promoted and assigned to homicide. I want to be there for my twenty-sixth birthday. I have six months left. I stepped into the Lieutenant’s office. “Close the door.” I sigh and close the door. Assuming I’ll get another verbal assault over some contrived failure on my pa...

THE BIRTHDAY I stepped into the small AIRBNB and dropped my bag on one of the queen beds. The bathroom door was open, and the shower was running. As I was taking my suit out of the bag, Les—my older sister by eleven months, Irish twins, they say—stepped out of the shower. “Jack, you finally made it.” So, as they say, this isn’t how it looks. Les, Leslie, and I grew up in a lower-middle-class family in a two-bedroom house...