He wanted to be where no one would know who he was. He wanted to escape from himself.
Oscar WildeTag: fugitive
So, this is how it will play out. Today, in the sunshine, on the noisy sidewalk at Logan Airport in Boston, with people and their suitcases bumping into me, and taxi horns blaring and strangers going about their routine day, I’m about to learn that I have lost my husband. I will finally know his secrets.
Deirdre-Elizabeth ParkerTag: love crime fugitive felon identify-theft
The next morning he drove the stranger’s car half way to the Registry of Motor Vehicles before he realized he could not apply for a driver’s license. He suddenly realized he had left his name at the prison.
Deirdre-Elizabeth ParkerTag: love marriage prison fugitive escapee
I am flagrantly nuts. I can say this because I am a doctor and I know about these things.
Deirdre-Elizabeth ParkerTag: marriage prison fugitive unconditonal-love
I have spent my whole life preparing to be William Wallace’s wife. The choices I make are defined by the person I am.
“I am Mrs. William Victor Wallace. I am married to a federal felon whom I love unconditionally.
I hold my head high, I take pride in my life and I walk this world without regret.
I will be the perfect wife and my husband deserves nothing less.
Tag: marriage prison forgiveness husband wife fugitive felon unconditonal-love
The family landed in the Western Hemisphere in the person of Roger Blake Wolfe, who arrived with a price on his head.
James Carlos BlakeTag: family first-sentence fugitive
From that night the thousand streets ran as one street, with imperceptible corners and changes of scene, broken by intervals of begged and stolen rides, on trains and trucks, and on country wagons with he at twenty and twentyfive and thirty sitting on the seat with his still, hard face and the clothes (even when soiled and worn) of a city man and the driver of the wagon not knowing who or what the passenger was and not daring to ask. The street ran into Oklahoma and Missouri and as far south again as Mexico and then back north to Chicago and Detroit and then back south again and at last to Mississippi. It was fifteen years long.
William FaulknerTag: fugitive
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