Serving Tacos to a Serial Killer in Training
And then I looked into the boy's eyes.
Not like a creepy thing — it wasn't as if I had to. It was as if I couldn't help it. For the boy's eyes were dead, malevolent, like an evil, lifeless doll or something. And I realized I was serving tortilla chips to a budding Jeffrey Dahmer.
I rationalized. Someone, somewhere, had to have served a glass of iced tea to John Wayne Gacy, right? Ed Gein probably was served breakfast at some diner by someone, yes?
When Ali, Casey, and I were in college down in central Illinois, we lived in this great place just a block off campus. It was situated at the top of a hill overlooking the town smack dab in the middle of Greek Row, snuggled between the Beta and SAE houses—a modest, three-bedroom house with a front porch and back patio, and yard that made it ideal for barbecues and other themed or not themed parties.