“I’m just not hungry.” “I inhale this stuff. You have to, or it drips fucking everywhere. That’s why it’s so great, you can’t eat i... and try to be polite. There’s no way.” “You’ve always lived here?” She grunts in affirmation. “My folks are about two kilometers away, in the same apartment I grew up in. Might as well be two million.” A young woman behind the counter brings a coffee pot over to refresh my cup. She has a sleeve of tattoos up one arm and black braids that. And by someone, she'd mean Dom. But she wouldn't say it. You'd never get Mom to admit that she had precisely one son who'd spent a night in jail, who'd withdrawn from college for the semester no less than three times, and who was no longer welcome in any of the bars within twenty minutes of my parents' house. I swam a dozen quick laps then camped out the edge of the pool, pretending I needed to catch my breath. The two of them weren't sitting very close to the edge of the pool, but they had. More

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