As soon as Danny pulled out of the neighborhood, his house blew up.
He hadn’t been able to sell enough crank to buy the two adjoining lots. Fuck it, he thought, and spent the evening wiring his heater to explode.
He then waited two years for the insurance claim money to arrive, and bought those two lots.
Danny rebuilt his house, built our house and built Joe’s, too.
Now he’s married to a paralegal. They have a son. He’s a Scoutmaster, and he’s running for borough council.
Rumor has it after the explosion his kitchen table landed perfectly on its legs.
Apparently this is one instance where crime does pay. Nice job with this one, Manheim!
Oood Job, Manny.
Great little story!