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Redmond an asshole.”
    Mr. Nak said, “Okay, Hudgie, we heard him,” and the kid jerked like somebody had slapped him back to consciousness, looked around kind of sheepishly, and said, “Called Redmond an asshole. That’s a good one. Life sentence. No possibility of parole. That asshole Redmond will make sure of it.” Hudgie didn’t look like he needed anger management, Lar. He looked like he needed the space aliens who sucked his brains out to give them back.
    â€œTell you what,” Mr. Nak said directly to me, “we’ll get back to you. Why don’t you just listen awhile, and see what you think?”
    That sounded good to me. I’d had about all the attention I needed, because old Elvis never took his eyes off me once, and I got the feeling he’d soon be steppin’ all over my blue suede shoes.
    Mr. Nak turned to the rest of the group. “Anybody gotanything they want to talk about?”
    A kid named Joey raised his hand. He’s one of the few regular-looking guys in the group—nice clothes, dark, kind of slicked-back hair, would be pretty good-looking if you could ignore the permanent scowl on his face. The guy looks like an Italian Mr. Yuk sticker. He said, “I got somethin’.”
    Mr. Nak said, “Go.”
    â€œWe got a skunk in our house.”
    Mr. Nak said, “I’m assumin’ you’re not talkin’ about your pappy,” which got a few laughs.
    â€œNo, man, a real skunk. Comes in through the cat door.”
    Mr. Nak said, “That’s interestin’, but I was lookin’ for an anger issue.”
    â€œHey, man, this skunk pisses me off.”
    Mr. Nak shrugged. “Okay, so has he done his dirty deed in your house?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œWhat does he do?”
    â€œHe eats.”
    â€œThat all?”
    â€œYeah, that’s all.”
    â€œSo why do you get all riled?”
    â€œHe’s a skunk , man.”
    Mr. Nak looked at me. “Joey likes smoke and mirrors, likes to keep me off any subject that might get close to home.” He patted his chest to indicate where home was, then turned back to Joey. “You got a plan?”
    â€œGonna shoot his ass. Got my old man’s .22 and some buckshot load, and I’m gonna wait till I catch him outside and blow his ass to smithereens.” He leveled an imaginary rifle at an imaginary skunk and said, “Bloooom!”
    Mr. Nak rocked forward and smiled. “Yesterday, in one of his rare public outbursts, Elvis here demanded, “How does anybody get out of this chicken-shit group?’ I said ‘anybody’ needs to participate real regular in discussions, let the rest of us in on the parts of his life he—or she—don’t want us in on, and respond to a few concrete assignments. You, Mr. Joe, get the first concrete assignment of the year.”
    â€œYeah? What’s that?”
    â€œLeave the skunk alone.”
    Joey sat up straight. “You out of your mind?”
    â€œThat’s been wondered more than once.”
    A titter ran through the group about then, Lar, and I remember thinking Mr. Nak sure is every bit as crazy as everybody says. I mean, he wants this poor jerk to invite a skunk to dinner.
    Then Mr. Nak said, “Look, Joey, why is it you think the skunk ain’t sprayed?”
    â€œNobody’s pissed him off.”
    Mr. Nak said, “Hit ’er right on the head, pardner. An’ accordin’ to ever rap sheet I got on you—and there’s one for ever week for ever teacher—you like to piss people off. For the next week, Mr. Skunk is goin’ to represent Everteacher. It’ll be your job to keep him all nice an’ calm. Mess up an’ you’ll know it right quick.”
    Joey said, “Oh, man, are you kidding me?” Then he paused. “What about my old man or my old lady? What if they piss him off?”
    â€œFrom what you said the