Five sweaters and a hat find me in the kitchen. Predictably, mother left cigarettes and no note, so I have one over orange juice.
And I make myself concerned suddenly with just where those same mothers have gone absent to, with the indoor weather something now intolerable.
The men rushed toward the open door. “Not so fast, fuck-os,” she said. Annie was a small woman, no more than five-foot-three with most of her weight in her disproportionate breasts, of which she often complained gave her backaches.