They say he was born without fingernails, but after six months of drinking a stool or two away from, the vodka made me ask.

"Buy me a drink," he spoke to the empty mug in front of him.

Bill was sixteen. His grades were good. He was a happy, good looking kid, nothing like the grizzled, worn, middle aged man in front of me. Now he wore flannel and worked at a paper mill. His best friend was Skippy Peterson. They were inseparable until Skippy started getting into drugs.

"Shit, I forgot to mention the old man. I can't go on without introducing the old man." He was still speaking to the mug.

His old man worked at a meat packing plant and drank, heavily. The two of them got on well during the day, but after dinner, the old man got mean from drink. One time he caught Bill's older brother, Karl sneaking a cheese sandwich after eleven. The old man punched him in the mouth, trying his hardest to knock the scavenging teeth out of his head. He succeeded in removing four.

"We knew to be careful. I always was. I'd be home well before curfew. I wouldn't even leave my room after ten, in case he saw me in the hall. If I had to piss I'd use a cup or bottle. Tough luck if I had to shit."

One night while Bill was sleeping, Skippy came by. They never locked their doors back then, and Skippy walked right in. He opened Bills' room and watched him sleep. He'd just taken three hits of acid and was in a very off state of mind.

"Shit, I forgot to tell ya, I slept naked back then. Some stupid phase..."

After a few minutes of watching Bill, Skippy realized that he wasn't acting normal. Bill was acting normal. Emulating Bill, Skippy took off his clothes. Then he climbed into bed with him. The acid was scaring him, he needed an anchor. Needless to say, Bill woke immediately.

"I must have screamed."

John, his father, came storming into the room, ready to pound some respect into his son. He was furious the boy wakened him when he had to be up at six.

"He lost it. He saw me first, naked, standing. Then he saw Skippy in the bed. Skippy just stared at us, completely confused.

John dragged Bill to the garage, naked, and threw him to the concrete floor. He took a pair of pliers from the wall and grabbed his sons' hand.

"He never said a thing to me. He wouldn't even look me in the eyes. He just started pulling. It took a few tries in the beginning, then he got the hang of it. I screamed, and begged. The pain was horrible. The feeling of something ripping out of your skin, feeling it slide underneath on its way out. He finished and left me there. We didn't talk much after that."