My cousin Carmine — God rest his felonious, bullet-riddled, soul — with his cement-block head and no neck; was a dangerous guy. But, occasionally, he’d put his leg-breaking duties aside and join the family for Sunday dinner. Afterward, he’d always push his chair away from the table, pat his beer belly, swollen under his spaghetti-stained, [...]

Read more on www.giantsgab.com