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- mike on Breakfast in the desert with a convicted child molester
- Matt Peebles on Why I’m doing this…
- Ali Guitron on Breakfast in the desert with a convicted child molester
- Greg Doyle on Breakfast in the desert with a convicted child molester
- Donkey Punch on Breakfast in the desert with a convicted child molester
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A story of methamphetamine and molestation
The city of Red Bluff is fading.
Not the whole city, but big chunks of it. The chunks the Chamber of Commerce would prefer you didn’t see.
It’s the sun that does it.
Beating year after year against the side of businesses where profit margins fell short of paint buckets, where money moves like syrup sits, where neon signs flicker and fail.
Peter Singer grew up here, in the far north of California’s central valley.
Here is a picture of his back tattoo:
“Death is only the beginning”
Red Bluff was a mining town and then a railroad town before Peter was born. Today it’s a Wal-Mart warehouse and a window installation town.
And for its poorest residents, it’s a methamphetamine town.
They call it crank, or dope. And it’s not just a drug; it’s an industry for those without an industry.
It’s born into bathtubs and it dies on construction sites.
It stares through wild eyes perched above forearms wringed like dishcloths.
It sleeps under the freeway bridge in shanties set up next to the river.
Shopping carts litter the long grass.
I’ve slept down there. And so has Peter.
But that’s not where we met. We met at a Denny’s restaurant in Red Bluff.
And it’s not where this story begins.
It begins with a felony charge the state gave Peter when he was 19.
Something they call, “Penetration with a foreign object” … more