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With The Same Hot Blood Running In Our Veins
�Pa?� said Jackson Cage, his voice uncharacteristically tentative.
�What the Sam Hill are you doin� in here?� the elder Cage demanded.
�Well, I--� Jackson shook his head. �Lookin� for you, I guess. Lookin� for myself.�
�Goddamn, boy, ain�t you ever gonna grow up? How old are you now, twenty-five?�
�Twenty-six,� said Jackson Cage.
�And you�re still tryin� to find yourself? Ain�t married, ain�t got kids, still ain�t cut your damn hair... you even got a job, Jackie?�
�I�m a bard,� he said. �Play down at the Ramrod.�
�That ain�t a job, that�s a goddamn hobby.�
�Pays my bills.�
�Just �cause you ain�t got no responsibilities, that�s all. You�re still a goddamned teenager.�
�Bullshit,� said Jackson. �I got as much right here as you do. I ain�t gonna grind it out in your damn refinery or down the
mill for the next twenty years, waiting for a moment that just don�t come. I got dreams.�
�Kid dreams is what you got.� Jackson wasn�t expecting the lunge, and by the time he�d reacted his father had yanked his guitar away and smashed it against the iron fence with the pent-up fury of four decades. �Grow up, Jackie! Walk like a man, or go the hell home!�
Jackson roundhoused him in the chin.
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