screws. Even he could do that, and as he and Noonie slowly left the lumberyard, her waddling and him baby-stepping, Matt pictured the door already repaired. It will probably take me twenty minutes at most, he thought. When finished, there would be a sense of accomplishment, of having done something that wasn’t only practical but that he didn’t have to hide. As much pride as he used to take in distributing weed, this, he knew, was a somewhat more socially acceptable way to channel his energy. In addition to never again killing anyone, Matt pledged to hereafter stop shirking home projects and to do more of these types of chores, the kind Noonie was always chuffing on about repairing things, painting and such. Instead of loathing Billy and Lisa’s home improvement fever, he would be inspired by them. Matt automatically helped Noonie in the car, making sure she was all in before shutting the door. Matt envisioned himself in Osh Kosh B’Gosh. He didn’t even miss pot that much anymore. The wild dreams had faded after several months. Everything was normal. Being straight was something he’d gotten used to after awhile. A drive on a beautiful day like today wasn’t quite as luminous, but it was beautiful enough. And he was still himself, maybe more irritable, but - thankfully - no longer casually murderous. That urge seemed so distant now, as if someone else had thought those thoughts and done those things. It was comforting that Matt knew he had left that behind him. No more killing! His resolution to go back to being the dear, sweet fellow he’d been before he’d taken people’s lives, the nice guy everyone had thought he’d been all along - that had to count for something. Once they were home, and Matt had parked in the driveway, he helped Noonie out of the passenger seat. Billy and Lisa’s boom-box was playing, “Billy, Don’t Be a Hero,” causing Noonie to mutter, “Madonna!”
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