Lauri kubuitsile biography of michael jackson
About Me. My photo..
"PADDY, are you stayin' till they come for me?" he asks for the hundredth time it seems.
"I said I would," I snap back and I'm immediately regretful of my impatience.
It's only an hour, an hour and some minutes at worst. Can't I behave until then? If nothing else, at least for myself, for how I'll feel after if I don't.
He's lying on the top bunk and I'm sitting on the one and only chair in the tiny cell, a metal one, ice cold through my thin dress pants.
Michael Jackson's death just like we went through every detail of his life- from the monkey in his bedroom to the merry-go-round in his.
Looking around, I wonder how he managed all this time in such a small space. I can just about touch opposite walls by stretching my arms out and standing in the middle. When we were boys together in the open, endless fields of rolling farmland, he was the one who couldn't be held.
Not in the house, no matter how abominable the weather; not in the classroom, a dropout on the day he turned sixteen, or by the societal rules that defined a life he had no intention of following.
Jimmy-Ray - 'that wild one' - my mother used t
