Excerpt from Darin Strauss's "More Than It Hurts You"

The policewoman handed Zack to the CPS representative, who carried him into the intricate rigging of the big police car. And then Josh couldn't see his son anymore.  The sky was beginning to whiten on this bright sunless morning. The police car's engine started; the mini gray rocks under the tires popped and ticked. Josh found himself running after the car, sidewalk and lawns and a streetlight bouncing in his vision as if he were watching someone's frenzied video footage: he hardly even realized that he was huffing down the street alone, on exhausted knees, waving bye to his son. That was another sound that, later, he couldn't stand:  the tapping, shushing sound of dress shoes on pavement.

© 2008