Ozgood Blatherton was a small, rotund man, with a florid complexion and heavy horn-rimmed glasses. He spoke in a dignified, pompous manner that sounde... oddly in the high-pitched tones of his voice. He wore heavy woolen suits with matching vests no matter what the time of year, and at the moment, his suit jacket was unbuttoned and he was leaning back in his office chair, thumbs hooked in the arm sockets of his vest. It was Monday afternoon and school was just over, but across from him sat his. “It’s you that don’t give the right answers. And what the fuck kid of name is Genzo?”“No Georgie-boy, it’s you that don’t ask the right questions to get the right answers,” Genzo says. “And it’s my damn name. My mother already named my brother Gonzo.”George opens his mouth to ask what that mattered, but instead he closes it and shakes his head. “Alright Genzo,” he says aggravatingly. “I need some answers. Real ones, not that bullshit you spill out at me.”“Then ask the right questions,” the. More

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