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We were terrible kids, I think. My brother, sister, and I felt a general meanness begin to surface from our tiny souls while living on Braly street, which was in the middle of industrial fresno.
I remember, for instance, watching my aunts going at one another in my grandmothers backyard, while the men looked on with beers in their hands and mumbled to one another, perhaps noting the beauty of a jab or a roundhouse punch.
Another time the police arrived late at night in search of our Uncle Leonard who had gotten into a fight at a neighborhood bar.
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