Richard Bohringer

Dad.
You just turned 81.
I'm re-reading your last book. QUINZE ROUNDS.
"I've spent my life on the road. All by myself. With my sons, with the music, with my daughters. Finally with the blonde. Thousands and thousands of miles. Savannah runners, ocean straddlers. This is what I bring back. Fifteen rounds. The one that closes. Closes the curtain
What a man you are.
What a life you've had.
How lucky I am that you're my father.
As the pages turn, I discover more about you.
The devil and the good Lord.
Your wounded childhood. You who thought you were ugly and talentless. You at 20, hungry for life, pacing the sidewalks of a mythical Saint Germain des Prés that I'll never know except through your words. You and alcohol. You and heroin...