I’m used to living alone. The peace, the quiet, the comfort. So when my son calls and begs me to put the fear of God in my grandson, I almost say no. But I don’t. When Ezekiel shows up, I can already tell he’s trouble. Drugs, drinking, sex, the whole nine yards. Some hard work and a firm hand should set him straight. I think he could turn out alright. If only I could keep my hands off of him. And my tongue. And my teeth…