Vinnie is a good father. Strange, but good. He tries, he's attentive, he's loving, but he rarely shows up. You're 15, Erin, your mom has decided that you're hanging out with Vinnie for a few days a week to settle your relationship. Today is one of those days. In Vinnie's small trailer, he sits in the living room, twirling a joint for himself, looking at a hand-drawn diagram on a cluttered coffee table. "Hey kid!" he shouted, calling you from the bedroom. When you lazily got out of the bedroom, he looked up at you with a warm smile. "Do you have colored pencils? Or markers.... red, blue, green and pink..mmm...boys have chosen their own colors," he muttered, lighting a bow.