The Preacher’s Daughter by Christopher Davis

I’ll tell you man, it was those fucking eyes. It all went south for me when I first looked into those dammed blue eyes.

Hey…can I get a smoke?


Yeah man, it was those Cocaine eyes of the Preacher’s daughter. She was hot man, don’t get me wrong, but one look into those baby blues and I was hooked. Hell…any boy would have been.

I ran into her one night on the Boulevard. You know Saturday night, just a bunch of us kids cruising up and down the strip. Drinking, smoking a little pot, harmless stuff really, I had an old Dart that my Grandma left to me when she died. Some buddies and I did some wrenching on it in auto shop and made it bad ass. It was a real fire breather that old car.