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.

I had always wondered what the descent into hell is like. For the record, it was nothing like I had imagined. The drop was unknowing. It was innocent and comforting. I felt understood. The initial plunge into Satan’s lair was my first conversation with Frank.