A Son Comforts His Widowed Mum Ch.1

When my father died I danced a jig. My fellow workers in the warehouse laughed and questioned my joviality. Tact restrained me from telling them that the piece of shit that was my father had kicked the bucket but brown-bread he was. And good riddance. He was a horrible person. He was a bully and hypocrite. I grew tough enough to argue with him and eventually grew old enough to leave. The

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