Jim’s mother had divorced his step father-the man that he called dad-when he was fourteen.  She moved Jim and his brothers to a small town in southern Oklahoma where drug use was common place and in most walks of life, accepted as normal.  He needed a man to look up to and the guy that stepped to the task was his mother’s younger brother who we’ll call Jake.  After a few days of methamphetamine twisted logic and about 72 hours without sleep, Jim found himself setting in the passenger side of uncle Jake’s pick-up and puffing on an illegal cigarette.  Jake had just installed a brand new CD player in his pickup and he was tapping his thumb to the rhythm of his favorite Hank CD.  Suddenly the CD started to skip and Jake screamed “It’s eating my tape!” 

He promptly reached down and yanked the tape from the tape deck and looks over at Jim.  His hands were a mangled mess of dissarrayed tape film and his eyes beamed with madness.

     “I think it’s a CD buddy.” Jim said casually as he gave him a sympathetic, dumb look.